Furie Hearts
by ForPony39
Summary: AU, Captain Hook finds himself in a tight spot after a pub brawl in a nowhere little port town. Sentenced to a slow death, he finds an unlikely kindred spirit in the beaten down town outcast Emma Swan, who still dares approach his gallows. Can he convince her he's worth saving? Can she trust the Furie heart caged in her breast when it points at a pirate?
1. Chapter 1

**Whelp, I'm back. Thought I might try my hand at a short story. God help me I hope I can make this a short story, lol. Enjoy guys!**

* * *

Things really started to go wrong after they came to the pub. Sure, Killian's day had been going rather lousily to start with – the weather had been temperamental all that day, the winds alternating between howling and slight whispers every bloody hour as they waited forever for a good score to cross their path. Finally when one ship did come along, the raiding of a vessel supposedly loaded had turned up almost bare of anything. Turned out the ship had already have been looted only mere hours earlier and the bare bones of the boat punted off on its merry way. He wasn't sure who had the more rotten luck - the ship that had been boarded by two different pirate crews in one day or him for being the second pirate. It was bloody humiliating was what it was, Captain Hook beaten to the punch – God help him he hoped this tale died right here before it spread. Then on the way to port the weather had finally decided it was going to turn for the worse and the sea had turned with it. He'd always love the sea but she could certainly be a dangerously fickle witch sometimes.

They'd made it to a smaller side port on the way, but the storm was raging and the ship was stuck in this little nothing of a coast town until it calmed.  
So the grumbling lot of pirates and himself had shuffled on to the only pub in this shabby little port to drink this bad day away, a good brew and a few pretty bar wenches could always take the sting off a bad day. Too bad neither of those things were to be found here either - the beer was cheap swill, and the bar wenches weren't that pretty (hideous really.)  
But at the very, very least the ale was doing its job and him and his crew were getting good and drunk. Overall it'd been a shitty day Killian didn't think could get worse.

He should have known better than to tempt the fates.

While a bar wench whose name he forgot about as soon as it'd passed her few yellow teeth sat down on his lap before he could stop her, the door opened, letting the rain and the thundering tempest glimpse into the warm dingy little pub with an icy gust. Killian Jones barely paid it any heed as he reluctantly took the offered mug from yellow teeth (loathe to outright shoo her off, as even an ugly lass was due the most common respect given to a lady) and knocked mugs with the rest of the crew who cheered and poured the drink back before loudly calling for more.

In the racket and through the haze of alcohol Killian didn't notice that the bar had become rather full, the new patrons hung back, silent and ominous.

One figure stepped forward, a gruff voice barking "Captain Hook!" over the racket.

His Crew's drunken hollers had quietened as they turned they're attention to the intruding force. The man who'd called out his name was tall and thickly built, rain dripping off him from the storm. Killian leaned his chair back, balancing it on two legs so he could better see the figure with the giggling wench still on his lap, half empty mug in his hand.  
"Present!" Killian answered cheekily. The man pulled back his hood with spade like hands, revealing a big bushy beard and beady brown eyes.

"I'm here to see your crime against my wife answered for." He declared, voice harsh with his anger. Hmmm, another angry husband, figures this is how the day would end. Killian tilted his head as if confused.

"And what crime would that be?" he asked, lazily sipping at his mead.

"You took her to your bed."

He had no idea exactly who this man's wife was, but it was entirely possibly that he had indeed bedded her – and he would not be the first angry husband to confront him for it.

"I was unaware it was a crime to pleasure a woman," Killian answered, smirking insolently. "Dare I say the crime rather should be to fail at the task."

His crew laughed, and the man's bead brown eyes filled with rage as he drew his sword and the sound of steel echoed around them all as his posse drew with him.

"You jest about seducing and sullying the honor of my wife!" he roared. Killian chuckled, he didn't know who this man was, nor did he quite recall who the woman was who he claimed was his wife, women lined up to fall into his bed and he said about as much.

"Seduce implies an effort in the matter. I admit I may not recall the specifics but this I do know - she came of her own accord."

It was clear however that this man did not believe him, and Killian was willing to bet even if he had he'd still be rearing for a fight, not that he particularly cared either way. Killian sighed, shaking his head as he gently shooed the bar wench from his lap and stood. The steel of his hook glinted in the oil lamp light of the pub, catching the ringleader of this who thing's eyes, a glint to match the sword he boldly brandished. Killian grinned as all his men stood with him, the entire pub's atmosphere suddenly ratcheted with thick, violent tension. If this man wanted to fight he was more than happy to indulge him. And since he'd already indulged in the drink, since he'd already had a bad day, he decided to rub it all in.

"Wives and the like, they come over and over again." He said, finishing his drink. The man shouted with incoherent anger and rushed forward with his posse behind him. Blade clashed against blade as Killian grasped the hilt of his cutlass and wrenched it from its sheath to meet the other mans' steel.

An all-out brawl swept through the bar that rivaled the storm in its ferocity, the clash of swords, the dull sounds of fists throttling flesh and the cries of men yelling and wenches screaming as they tried to scramble away from the mayhem. But there wasn't enough of Killian's crew here to help him turn the tide of the fight, the fact he and most of his men were drunk wasn't helping.

But no matter how inebriated, Killian was a demon with a sword.

The man was all brute strength, hacking and slashing so hard his sword vibrated all the way down the blade and into the hilt. If he kept this up the man might crack his blade. Killian, rolled his eyes at his opponent's lack of skill with a sword - bloody peasants pick up a blade and suddenly think they can match them with pirates. Fools. He side stepped a reckless swing and kicked the back of the brutes' knee, collapsing his leg before slamming his elbow into the back of his neck. He used his hook to wrench the blade from his accusers just before he hit the floor. Killian kicked in the side, rolling him onto his back so that he was forced to glare up at him from the floor, eyes seething with loathing and rage.

Killian pressed the end of his sword under the man's chin and smiled. "With your sword skills it's no wonder your wife sought me out." He said, twisting his wife's infidelity deeper like a knife.

But during his gloating, high on his one victory after a bad day, Killian seemed to have forgotten there was still a brawl going on around him - that was the final mistake of the night - with a few more to come still. A sharp pain exploded through the back of his skull as the sound of a bottle breaking over his head stabbed at his ears. For a moment he saw only red with black spots before falling completely into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't know why, but I love writing AU's. Something about watching this couple fall in love in every possibly universe appeals to me... damn you muse. Enjoy!**

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Killian felt like he had the worst hangover of his life as he climbed into consciousness (and he'd had a few doosies in his time.) Even now with his eyes still closed stars were exploding behind his eyelids as he groaned. His mouth tasted like he'd been sucking on copper coins before something had crawled inside and died. A voice said something but he didn't entirely catch it, still trying to clear all the cobswebbs from his mind. A throbbing pain in his head was already trying to take what little coherent attention he'd managed to find thus far and wrestle it from him. He could feel something sticky and dried in his hair and on his neck, dried blood he was sure. Was he leaning against a tree? Good god, what the bloody hell had happened to him? Killian tried to lift and hand to his head and steady the slight spinning sensation behind his eyelids, but found that both arms were locked by his side. What?

He managed to peel his eyes open with some effort, trying to blink dry blurriness from his vision to see he was on the edge of a small little villiage. He had a nice view of the town square where some people where already mulling about and preparing for the day, a little water well right at its center. There were few trees spread about him he saw as he looked about the edge of this little town, strong and sturdy looking; the sun was already hot and rising well into the morning sky. The storm, it seemed, had receded completely and in its wake the good tidings of early summer were following. Something constricted about his chest, rubbing the bark of the tree into his back harshly, his legs were sprawled out in front of him. It took him a moment but he realized he was being tied to a tree.

Oh, wonderful.

His head cleared pretty quickly then as he strained against the ropes, the men tying him there pulled so tightly in response he had trouble getting a full comfortable breath.

"Don't bother," one of the men said as he tied the last knot. "Rope's been enchanted."

Of bloody course it had. It all came back in a rush, he remembered what had led to this. He strained harder against the ropes despite what he'd been told, growling out a vile curse as the men stepped back from him to view their handy work. At the very forefront stood the man with the bushy beard and the beady, hateful eyes.

"Awake at last" he said, voice sounding like gravel as Killian glared up at him now, seething silently. Without warning the bastard stepped up and punched him across the face. His knuckles tore the skin on Killian's cheek bone open and caused those blasted stars to start flashing behind his eyelids again, pain exploding through his jaw.

Killian grit his teeth a moment before turning his head back to stare down the man who'd struck him. He was a pirate - he could take a punch. He spit out a gob of blood as casually as he could, a stream red trickling down his face.

"My sister hits harder than you, mate. I don't have a sister so that really says something when I know she would _definitely_ hit harder than you." Killian told him with a dark taunting grin.  
The man's response to this was to smash his fist back into Killian's face even harder, and it hurt so bad Killian was sure his jaw was on the verge of breaking. Killian had a policy though, and that policy was to deny any many victory over him – even if the only way to do that was to hide the damage behind a smile and derisive laughter. So he laughed - doing his best to keep the pain out of it.

"Come on, it's all in the follow through man." Killian laughed. "If you're going to hit a man who can't hit back at least do it right."  
It was also a nasty habit of his he'd yet to shake, being a bastard at the wrong times. The beady eyed Neanderthal was winding up to let him have another when another man grabbed his arm and held him back, with some difficulty Killian noticed.

"Easy! Don't let him goad you Harris." The other man advised, sneering down to where the pirate was tied.

"Yes, Harris - give the other girls a turn," Killian jeered back. "I'd hate to miss that giggle fest of slaps."

The brute called Harris pulled his arm out of the other man's grasp, giving the others a look that apparently was tantamount to and order as they began to scatter. He pointed a large finger menacingly at Killian.

"A quick death is too good for you pirate." He barked.

"I'm too good for death all together, he never takes me anywhere nice." Killian shrugged, the motion making him wince. Harris held up his hook and Killian's frown deepened to a scowl.

"I'll think fondly of how wrong you were every time I look at this, after we bury you." Harris told him coldly.

Harris it seemed was winding up for some kind of speech because his men were moseying back to where they'd tied Killian, ushering the townsmen and women before him to be addressed. "For your crimes of piracy and numerous other offences, Captain Hook, you've earned the five day death." He announced loudly and a bit theatrically. Even with that delivery it sobered Killian slightly - he really didn't like the sound of that. "Have I now?"

"You will stay tied to this tree - where everyone in our village can see you. You will not be given food or water - either the elements will ravage you until you wither away and die, or the wild animals will be lured in to gnaw on the helpless meat that you are." Harris smiled for the first time Killian had met him, it was an ugly expression. "One way or the other, I will get to watch."

"… Sounds a tad debautcherous if you ask me."

Harris's smile disappeared from his face - obviously displeased by Killian's nonplussed reaction. Honestly if he expected Killian to get worked up over being sentenced to death he had the wrong man – He'd looked far worse fates in the eye over the course of his life thus far and Killian had no intention of letting the tale of Captain Hook die here.

Harris turned to the small gathering of the townspeople and addressed them then. "This man is not to be fed, given water or assisted in any way under strict penalty, he is not to be shown pity or mercy of any kind. This pirate leads wives astray, steals, murders-"

"I've murdered no one and stolen nothing from these people," Killian interrupted drolly. This may be the best time to assert a general sense of innocence, when the town was watching - perhaps he could snare a youth or maiden's sympathetic heart and persuade them to help him - five days was a long time to figure out a way to escape, or manoeuvre someone else into helping him escape. He couldn't help but notice that the man who had dragged him here for supposedly seducing and sleeping with his wife, brought only a generalization of his crimes to the public and not the specific one against him. It baffled him.

"I've committed many crimes, true," Killian allowed loudly to the gathering, seizing his chance. "But that's not why Harris brought me here to die, is it?"

Harris didn't even glance at Killian when he spoke, he simply made a gesture to another fellow who had helped secure him to the tree. One of the men who'd helped tie the ropes and was still standing by the tree replied to his statement by kicking him in the stomach. The air wooshed out of Killian in a violent rush that left his body in something of a shock, spots dancing in front of his eyes as his lungs tried desperately to remeber how to draw breath. He sucked in a harsh, involuntary gasp of air at last that left him in a spasms of coughs. Killian grit his teeth, unable yet to speak as he struggled, unable to spit out a furious threat yet. He found other ways to retaliate of course. Killian leaned as much as he was able towards the man who'd kicked him retaliated the only way he could, and spit on his pants. The man backed away disgusted.

"That will cost you later pirate," he promised on a growl as Harris continued to speak to the villiage.

"Shaking in my boots at the very thought." Killian wheezed back.

Harris apparently liked to talk without saying much, going on about the evil of piracy and people like Killian, being festering sores on the backs of humanity and descent folk - it was all very dramatic. But Killian was not bothering to listen at this point. He was scanning the crowd for a curious face, for a maiden or fellow who could possibly be lured in to listen to his plight. That's what he was supposed to be looking for. The problem was he got hung up on one face; Or rather what little he could make of it from the hood of tan cloak.  
Her long blond hair fell loose from around what he could see of the soft curves of her face, wrapped in a light tan cloak that appeared a bit ratty from excessive wearing. And then she looked at him and he saw that she was… he didn't have words. Stunning seemed too common to describe her. He'd seen many pretty lass's in his life but it was the look in those blue eyes of hers that set her apart, neither cynical or wide eyed with innocence. She looked at him like she was trying to peer inside him. He studdied her a moment, noticed that even in the crowd as she was there was a way everyone else stood about her, as if trying not to touch her of be too near to her, in such a way that even among them she was apart from the crowd all together, unwelcomed. He expected her to look away when he finally met her gaze, like most women would, but she didn't. She held his eyes and in that long moment that was over all too quickly he felt the strangest sense that he… knew her perhaps?

Harris finished up at last, having made Killian's sentence to sit here tied to this tree and die clear and the consequences of trying to subvert said sentence. Everyone turned and was shooed off as quickly as they'd been gathered to return to doing what their daily lives demanded. But her? She paused that extra few seconds, and Killian didn't fail to notice that Harris stared at her almost pointedly. She noticed quickly and turned to leave almost instantly without acknowledging the man named Harris. Curious… but Killian had bigger things to focus on than whatever spat had just played out before him.

* * *

The first day was turning out bad, not horrible, but in no way good. He hadn't much expected it to be any less of course but still. The alcohol had already dehydrated him and last night's weather seemed to have left only an abnormally hot day to come in its wake. The sun assaulted him through the whole morning, making his headache worse and his mouth cottony. He felt sick, as if his stomach was going to turn itself inside out at any given moment and the sensation of eyes weighed on him irritatingly – whether it was the glances of townspeople or simply the lackey stationed under the shade of one of the little village huts keeping an eye on him. He covertly attempted to find something he could use nearby to help cut him loose at every spare moment when his guard's eyes wandered from him - a sharp rock, anything. But no such luck, he knew it wouldn't do him any good anyway if this rope was enchanted as had been claimed but what else had he to do?  
Fend off small children as it turned out. He'd seen them of course, looking his way from the town square. Whispering, handing each other things he couldn't quite see. He knew that air about them though, he'd seen it many times in men waiting to roll someone for the coins in their purse, or to simply pick fights with drunker men.

"Don't do it you little shite's," Killian said to himself watching them. Sure enough it wasn't five minutes later they ambled over, a group of two boys and a few girls, the oldest among them maybe twelve. "Bloody hell…"  
Suddenly he was being pelted with small stones, and pieces of rotting fruit to the sound of cruel childlike laughter. He turned his head away in an attempt to protect his eyes. He didn't fail to notice that the man Harris had stationed to watch him felt no need to interfere, prick.

"Dirty pirate!"

"How do you like that!" one of the boys shouted as a stone stabbed into his shoulder with enough force to bruise. _Anybody can be tough when their opponent can't fight back couldn't they?_ Killian thought bitterly. A rotten piece of something smeared off his forehead, he closed his eyes and swore to god he'd teach this lot some bloody manners when he finally got free. Then he heard a shrill shriek that was not the sound of laughter, but rather pain. When he heard another her turned his face back and carefully opened his eyes to look. A figure in a tattered tan cloak had joined the group of children, and she had the lead boys by their ears as the rest were already fleeing with a few cries of surprised fear. Her again?

"Unhand me! I'll tell my mother!" One boy threatened, arms failing.

"You do that," the blond woman said calmly as she steered both boys away from where he was tied and shoved them back towards town, "And then stay the hell away from him you little monsters." She ordered coldly, kicking the one who stumbled in the rear to hurry him away. Killian just stared at the back of her head as she watched the children run; interesting… She looked back at him briefly and he smoothed his expression under her inquisitive stare. Those dark blue eyes speared him in a way he found he didn't understand, but it made him forget all over again of how to breathe. He could only imagine the mess he looked now when before he'd already been less than his dashingly handsome self. And for a moment he actually found himself grateful to the little brats for bringing her close enough to speak with.

"My lady in shining armor." He said, dazzling her with his best smile. She returned it with the barest turn on the edges of her pale pink lips, so small he wasn't sure if she was really smiling or if he was imagining it. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she startled him when she leaned forward and gently flicked some of the rotted fruit off his brow. The trail of her fingertips over his skin like the brush of silk sped his pulse a few beats faster. She froze as if realizing what she was doing, caught in his space as they simply… looked at one another. Why had the air suddenly grown too dense to breathe?

She suddenly turned away without saying anything, he was left off kilter by how abruptly she pulled away. He almost panicked, afraid that he would lose this seemingly one chance to get a dialogue going with someone who seemed to have enough pity for him to work with, his one chance to spin enough mystery to draw the kindhearted lass back to him.

"Wait, please!" This only seemed to hurry her, as if she was now afraid she'd done something wrong and he felt the real urgency in the necessity to make her doubt that. Killian realized quickly part of her hasty retreat was due to the lackey, who'd been all too happy to allow the children their mean spirited fun, was making his way towards the pair of them.

"Thank you!" He almost blurted it out, the only thing he could really think to say as she rushed away. But he saw her step falter for a moment, saw her almost look back as she stopped for a second. "Thank you," he said again, as sincerely as he could possibly say the two words. She glanced to the guard almost upon them and resumed her departure to his dismay. He let a frustrated sigh hiss past his teeth as the guard stopped a few feet away and watched her go.

"It would be her, wouldn't it?" the man said, shaking his head as if disgusted by something. He wasn't sure what the hell that was supposed to mean, but his tone towards her offended Killian for some reason.

"Tell me, does your stench send all the ladies running or just the beautiful ones?" Killian asked nonchalantly, still watching her. His guard's reply was to kick dirt at him and return to his post. Killian let it go. (Not that he had much other choice.) He had something to work with here now, a little spark of hope in her. She'd come once and it was obvious that she, at the very least, was a little compassionate; maybe she would come back. As she re-entered the town square she was the recipient of many dirty looks she didn't seem to notice. He wondered…

* * *

It was early evening now, he could tell he was sunburnt and was sure that in the near future it would probably be another discomfort to add to his list of pains. His stomach had begun to ache and complain of its emptiness, the wound on his head had narrowed to a single sharp point of stabbing torment and now the bruising hold of the ropes had begun to demand that he notice said bruising. Since he'd been shimmying and squirming to get free he'd probably done most of this damage to himself. (It just wasn't in his nature to wait and do nothing, no matter if all he did was still futile) even the new guard watching him didn't seem terribly concerned with his efforts. This was only day one, god help him if he didn't get free soon.

He saw his little spark of hope again and again, he made note of her every time she'd come into his line of vision, and he'd noticed something very quickly. Whoever this woman was, she was not well liked. Not only did the rest of the townspeople seem to make an effort into isolating her like she was in her own personal bubble, but he watched again and again as they snubbed her – refusing to look at her when she spoke, ignoring her when she tried to pay for something. Once or twice he saw someone deliberately step on her cloak as she was walking and yank her to a stop before carrying on. For some reason she was a pariah here.  
He should have been glad, it gave her more reason to come back to him, perhaps she'd feel some kind of kinship with a pirate as the obvious outcast she was. It was a good thing for him. But honestly he found that it well and truly irritated him to watch her be treated as such. Why did she not stand up for herself?

"Look at you," he said to himself as he watched her, carrying her bucket to the well, brushing off everything they did as if this were routine. "All too use to this aren't you love?" He'd been doing this awhile now, talking as if she could hear him. He wasn't sure why, perhaps the silence was getting to him a bit. She dropped her hood a moment and swept the blond hair from her face before pulling it back up. "The hood can't hide you darling," he offered up to no one in particular, baffled by her. "They know it's you, they're all still being right bastards to you. Yet you don't do anything…" He watched her clench her fists as yet another person stepped in her path and very nearly knocked her over.

"Oh, but you want to don't you?" he said aloud. She wasn't trying to hide from the townspeople, she was trying to hide how they made her feel. She had begun to struggle to haul her bucket from the well, and Killian was very unsurprised that no one offered to help her. She didn't look like she'd take help even if they did offer, face showing how set and determined she was in every task he'd seen her set herself to. She hauled the heavy thing up over the rim and hefted it onto her shoulder as she made her way back through the people. And then Killian watched as two woman passed by and tripped her. The bucket went flying from her shoulder, water spilling out everywhere as she hit the ground.

"Those Bloody-" he nearly spat, suddenly incredulously angry. What was wrong with these people? The bloody hell had she done to them? Killian watched his little spark of hope get to her knee's slowly, hands bunched in fists so tight he could see them shaking from here. He noticed the two boys from earlier watching a little distance away with smug smiles. Ahh, the mothers then. The two women who'd tripped her weren't even being subtle about their cruelty like the rest of this town was, they were still standing there, saying something to her Killian couldn't hear but was sure was a verbal lashing of some kind.

"You don't have to take that crap love, come on," Killian urged, though there was no way she heard him, finding himself willing her to stand up and clock those wretches; Or grab them by the ears like she'd done to the pair of delinquents earlier. She got to her feet and picked up her bucket, already turning back to the well and away from them, clearly having no intent to retaliate.

"Oh come on – HEY!" he yelled, losing his patience at last, half the people in the square looked over to where he was restrained, including his little spark and the bitch who'd tripped her. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO TAKE THAT SHITE FROM THEM!" Killian went on, "DECK ONE OF THOSE UGLY HAGS!"

The little blond spark of a woman's jaw just about hit the ground and the two mothers gasped, clutching at their chests as if they'd never been so affronted in their lives. Killian was just getting warmed up, he may consider himself a gentleman, but he didn't waste his courtesies on the holier than thou or the cruel. Also it'd been a long day for him, so why not?

"Yeah! You ya pair of hideous creatures from the deep!" He continued shouting, watching the two women's faces turning a bright pinched shade of red. "When exactly did you both slither to dry land?!"

"How dare you!" one of the women yelled shrilly back at him, incensed.

"How dare I, lass?" He shouted back, realizing he was making quite a scene now that would likely not go unpunished. But as he'd said before, he had a terrible habit of being a bastard at the wrong time. "Surely I cannot insult you more than nature herself already has!"  
He wasn't really sure if this had anything to do with anything, but he saw his little spark of blond hope seemed to be close to laughing. The impeding consequences seemed even less important.  
And that was basically the kick off point of how he got half the town throwing mud at him.

* * *

 **God help me, I'm not going to make my five chapter limit am I? Sonuvab*tch...**  
 **Enjoy the rest of your weekend guys!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I have returned! :)**

 **...**

Emma sat alone in the hush that crept into the village at night, the yellow flicker of the oil lamp casting shadows around the cozy little one room home as she picked, rather unenthusiastically, at half a loaf of bread. She sat at the scarred old wooden table in the kitchen that had seen twelve generations of use, and with her uncle and aunt now both passed with no children, would probably never see a generation more after her… if she was lucky. Even that small, sad hope was beginning to flicker out like a candle at the end of its wick.

 _The stone face of her uncle towering over her as her aunt grasped her small hand and sobbed, and Emma, too young to understand why her birthday was so upsetting to everyone..._

Emma shook the memory off with a sigh. Good god, now even her table was making her sad, could she get anymore pathetic? This was supposed to be the one time after a long day she could find some damn peace. You'd think it'd get tediously dull, the town's (mostly) passive aggressive hate. She was way past used to it, but it never failed to sting like the bite of cold steel. So when the rest of this town resigned themselves to bed and she was the only one awake, she tried to soak up every second of it. Well, perhaps not the _only_ one…  
And here she went again, finding her mind wandering back to him. How long had it been since _anyone_ had been incensed about anything on her behalf? So very, very long ago. And him yelling for her to cold-cock "One of those ugly hags." She felt herself smile, her heart actually warming at the thought. And then that nice warmth drained away as she remembered the town basically ganging up to sling mud at him.

The sight of him tied to that tree was haunting her, had been the minute she'd laid eyes on him. Emma's fist clenched and unclenched as a sudden urge to throw the stale half of load against the wall washed over and past her. More proof she guessed, seemed like proof of her curse was just piling up lately – she could feel it, like the sun just before it broke the horizon and ended the quiet, peaceful night. He was going to be the final nail in her coffin; Emma should have known better. It had just been so long…

 _And now he's sentenced to the slow death, happy now?_

Her stomach churned again at the thought and she finally gave up trying to eat, wrapping the bread in a bit of cloth before getting up and putting it away. For a while she stood in front of that cupboard, staring at the old worn wood without really seeing it, frightfully still. She found that whenever she struggled with her heart she could hardly move.

 _You'll just make it worse._ And yet how could that be true? He was sentenced to death for godsakes!

 _That's the way it works, it can always get worse. Don't do it._ But despite what her brain told her, she knew deep down she'd already made up her mind. Emma sighed as she quickly retrieved the only other cloak she owned, (a dark shade of navy blue that was no less ratty than her tan cloak) snatched a full waterskin from a basket near her bed, a satchel of herbs from her personal stores, and blew out the light. "Never fucking learn, god help me." Emma muttered as she cracked the door open and peeked through the crack to be sure the coast was clear. _God help me… that's funny._ Emma smirked bitterly at the thought and quietly slipped from her home into the cool darkness waiting outside it.

* * *

Killian had encountered many types of cold in his travels, and he knew the difference between cold that killed, cold that damaged, and the cold that was just outright painful. The difference was at least cold that killed had the decency to just get it over with already, bloody _hell_. His entire body ached in a way that only the nip of frost trying to seep bone deep could manage. He tried to relax his jaw to stop the chattering of his teeth, his body jerking and twitching as his muscles seized sporadically. You'd think having the sunburn would at the very least fend off some of this damn cold. Maybe it was the mud. His saliva was thick as molasses, swallowing felt like a chore, his tongue felt like a cotton ball. Last but not least, his stomach, which had been unable to decide if it wanted food or to expel its contents entirely, had finally settled on grumbling so loudly its hollow ache was literally waking him every few minutes. In short he was bloody fucking miserable. The fact that his nightly guard was sitting under the edge of a roof, wrapped in a blanket snoring obnoxiously even from this distance, was sawing at Killian's nerves something fierce. When he got out of this he was going to run that Harris fellow through and leave him and his cronies' heads in that damn town square. The only plus with having the guard there was that his lamp threw just enough light so that Killian wasn't in total wretched darkness. What he wouldn't give to have that lamp close enough to feel its warmth…

Killian sighed and closed his eyes again, he needed to conserve strength any way he could if he had any hope of getting out of this debacle. And just as he was dosing he felt something, like the weight of a shadow pressing on him. Somebody was there. His eyes immediately opened, a shot of adrenaline warmed his blood, looking about him for the presence of who or whatever was near. He blinked a few times before he saw it, the slightly darker outline of a figure in the night, a few feet away, hesitating. Killian hoped it belonged to who he thought it was.

"Have I finally earned another visit from my blonde knight in shining armor?" Killian asked, voice sounding scratchy. He could so barely make out the figure in the dark as it kept its distance, that for a minute he doubted. Then the figure took a step closer and he just knew then it had to be her.

"Don't be shy, love," Killian coaxed, smiling lazily even as he struggled to keep his teeth from chattering. "I don't bite… well, un-"

"Unless they want you to," she cut in, coming even closer. "Right?" His spark of hope closer, enough for the weak light thrown by the lamp to chase the dark away from her. It pierced its way through the shadows of her hood, illuminating the small smile that only fully bloomed in her eyes.

"Is that an invitation or a question?" He answered, arching his eyebrows as he flashed a lopsided grin. She chuckled and he found the sound very pleasing as she edged closer.

"A challenge. Come now, I know you have better lines than that, pirate."

Killian started to smile, pleasantly surprised that her first words to him were cheeky ones. He hadn't expected that from a girl who gave all the appearance of a beautiful, wilting push over of a flower. He tested the waters, keeping it light and playful as they spoke in hushed, careful tones.

"Oh, lass - I don't resort to lines, I have natural roguish charisma to fall back on."

"And very aware of it." She answered, was that a note of teasing in her voice? He tried swallowing once or twice before speaking.

"So you agree, you think I'm charming?" he insisted. Her smile widened, and he felt as if he'd won some small victory. She liked him, he'd have her convinced to free him in no time.

"I think you're cold, covered in mud, and in need of a hangover curative."

"And still you find me intriguing, imagine if I were at full form."

"I'm afraid it wouldn't help, I'm not one to be charmed." She shared, sitting down a mere few feet away.

"How would you know my lady, has anyone ever tried?" from the way the town treated her he seriously doubted it. Her gaze flicked away from his and for a moment he worried he'd insulted her, that she'd leave after he'd touched upon what must have been a sore subject. He should have known better than to-

"Had a warlock try to cast a spell on me once, does that count?" Her reply caught him completely off guard, so much so he actually laughed, an abrupt sound he immediately regretted. Killian curse his brash reaction, faster than he could blink the Blonde woman had gone from sitting cross legged, to being on her feet, crouched like that would make her fleeing form a harder target. But she froze, they both did; tensed and watching the guard. They waited for any sign of him coming awake, waiting apprehensively as she looked on the verge of bolting. _Don't leave, don't wake, don't leave, don't wake…_ The man shifted in his chair and continued to snore, Killian let out a silent sigh of relief. She however did not relax, tense, wary, looking as if she still might run and vanish into the night – he desperately didn't want her to do that.

"It's alright," he said softly, "He's still sleeping, everything's okay." Those blue eyes of hers bounced between him and the still sleeping guard, clearly anxious and unconvinced. "He's out, love, everything's fine. Please." He nodded in front of him, inviting her to sit. Her gaze lingered on the guard for a long moment before she slowly sat back down.

"Apologies," Killian said quietly, "wasn't expecting a beautiful flower to wield such sharp petals."

"…Well, that's because I'm not a flower." she responded a little more slowly than before, a measure of extra caution in her voice. That voice was so very… familiar. "I'm a knight in shining armor, remember?"

"How could I forget... What's your name, love?" he asked at last. For some reason his question seemed to surprise her. Then she laughed, though it was quiet and almost self-deprecating.

"Of course…" she said seemingly to herself, shaking her head as she sighed and gave him a tired, wry smile. "Well that's to be expected I guess." She pulled a waterskin and a small pouch from her inside her cloak, pouring the pouches contacts into her palm, rubbing them between her hands in quick sure movements.

"To be expected?" he said, feeling the sudden dryness in his mouth with a vengeance, eyes locking on the waterskin. "It's been a long day for me so I'm falling a little behind on this one. Have we… met?" he asked, trying to stay focused on the conversation.

"You can call me Swan." She offered, bypassing his question entirely as she carefully began putting whatever was in the pouch into the waterskin. Coy didn't especially suit her in his opinion.

"I can, but is it your real name?"

"Is Hook yours?"

"... Point." He licked his lips, trying to wet them a little as his mind raced, wondering how he should ask her for just a sip of whatever she was concocting for herself. It shouldn't take him too much to convince her to share, she was after all-

Swan slid forward then and gently pressed the mouth of the bottle to his.

"Here." She offered simply. He was surprised all over again, she'd brought it for him specifically? Killian normally would have asked what it was, or any questions at all really - like why was she being so kind when it was clear she feared the consequences of her actions? Why risk anything for him at all? How did she know him? Why did she expect him to know her? But in the end they all went unasked, he was too thirsty at this point to think past that damn waterskin. She tilted it forward and he drank greedily, a small stream dribbling from the corner of his mouth and down his neck. She eased up a little and he felt annoyed, wanting the cool semisweet water to come faster.

It was like she read his mind when she said, "Drink any faster and you're going to throw it all back up, take it easy." Swan stopped a moment so he could catch his breath before resuming, speaking as he drank. "This should help with some of those aches and pains, and it's second only to rum for warming the blood, which you're going to need tonight." His thirst was only barely quenched with the last few gulps, but it was quenched. Even his stomach settled its cries for food, now filled with the mixture of water and herbs. He studied her as she slipped the empty bottle back into her cloak before finally deciding to do away with the playful banter.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice as quiet as it was mystified. He felt like his words carried in the new-found silence. She stared at him a moment, face a mixture of emotion, sadness, anger, more complex things he wasn't sure he understood.

"My full name is Emma Swan; And I'm the reason you're tied to the tree."

 **...**

 **The intrigue builds!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone! Back at last! Lets do this!**

 **...**

Killian blinked, mind going blank at this revelation for a moment at the pure unexpectedness of her answer. Then he seemed to find his voice as he hissed in disbelief, " _You're_ the wife?!" That almost explained the tense and strange interaction between the two at least.

Her eyes widened as she lurched forward and slammed her hand over his mouth. "Keep your damn voice down, are you crazy?" she snapped on a whisper. The heat of her palm against his lips was enough to wipe all thought from his mind, she was a dangerous lass to have this kind of power over a man. This new closeness filled the air around him with the scent of her skin. Yes he could see himself risking a few angry husbands for this one. He watched a crease form between her brows as she seemed to catch on something he said.

"Wait, did you say wife?" she asked. Since she didn't remove her hand from his mouth he supposed she was simple expecting him to nod. Killian instead spoke as if she wasn't still covering his mouth, leaving his words far too muffled to understand until she rolled her eyes and removed it so she could understand him. "What?"

"I said pleasure to meet you Emma Swan. What in God's name would possess you to take such a wanker for a husband?" he asked, "I'd ask why seek out another man, but that is rather clear after picking such a wanker of a husband."

"He did, he told you I was his wife! Good to see that confidence of his holding strong even now, prick," she hissed to herself, then vehemently to him, "He's _not_ my husband."

"He seems to disagree. Might wish to let him know before aforementioned further seeking." Killian advised, pulling at his restraints for emphasis. So this wasn't a kind lass taking pity on him, this was a lass trying to assuage remorse. In the back of his mind he thought that actually might be more useful to him than simple compassion. But for some very strange, entirely stupid reason, this made him a touch... put out? That she seemed offended now he could barely believe was for damn sure. "There is no misunderstanding – and for the record I did not seek you out, you crashed my table; not that you'd remember since you were skunk drunk."

"For a man claiming to be your husband, and you claiming otherwise, he certainly seems adamant I pay for sullying your honor."

Emma's eyes widened to saucer plates as her jaw dropped. " _Sullying my honor_!?"

He might have laughed at the sheer outrageous disbelief on her face then, but the warmth of her elixir had begun warming his blood, dulling his aches and pains. The relief was intense, a weight lifting however temporary; and all focus that had been scattered to the whims of pain were now pulling together for him to see how very precarious a situation he was possibly now negotiating.

"Wow. just, wow." She seemed to say to herself. "He look like a man who knows a lot about honor, Killian?" Emma asked him. His answer was twofold in that is was both honest and manipulative.

"As a man at his mercy, I think you know my answer." She flinched at that. More guilt, it was looking more and more like that may be the best foot hold with her.

Emma took a deep breath, held it and let it out. "This is a very… complication situation." she hedged, eyes sliding away from his. Was this shame? He didn't like shame, shame was impossible to work with. It was also a weight he didn't like the idea of her carrying.

"Nothing is as simple as just…" she made a helpless gesture. She put her head in her hand and let out a frustrated sigh. "God, I hate this." He found himself confused, fascinated, frustrated, and strangely sympathetic to her all at once, a mess of guilt and compassion all tangled up in her voice and her eyes, weighing on her shoulder. But none of this had anything to do with him, this quarrel was between her and her husband or lover or whatever the hell that prick Harris was to her. He didn't want to die for this, so to the guilt it was.

"Any way you cut it lass, this is none of my business. I've done my share of wrongs, but nothing against you, yours, and whoever Harris is to you, no?"

"No. No you have not." She agreed.

"I've already suffered past my fair share of it, due to your personal matters. The least you can do is cut me loose."

"I… I can't."

It was the way she said it. So quietly, the undercurrent of struggle in her voice as if warring with herself. His eyes narrowed at this. "… can't or won't?"

"I can't… I just can't." Emma looked at a loss, like she couldn't find the words she needed. "I'm… Killian I'm… I was born under the furie star." She said that like it was supposed to mean something, like somehow it explained everything. Emma looked to his face, clearly expecting to see some reaction to this news there. However all she saw was a complete lack of understanding. She looked even more lost for words than before at seeing such. What the hell was she talking about?

"Right… Furie star… the bloody hell does that mean?" Killian asked brashly.

"You don't… The Furie Star shone its brightest when I was born." She tried again, like maybe if she made that clear he would suddenly understand everything.

"… That must have been pretty?" he tried, feeling like he was scrabbling for a proper foothold in a sand ship. Emma's eyes widened in shock, like he'd just said something that was both scandalous and shocking all at once.

"You… you have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"Lass, the only stars I give a damn about are the ones that guide my ship."

He watched her sit there a minute, totally out of her element, like he'd just sprouted a second head and she didn't know which one to talk to. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and before she could or could not speak, there was the sound of a groan from where his guard slept. It wasn't any more alert or alarming than his snoring, in fact Killian would have comfortably ignored it with nothing more than a glance to be sure he was out.

But Emma was swiftly getting her feet under her before the sound was even finished.

"He's asleep, Swan," he tried to assure her again, but she kept edging away from him. "Emma, wait-"

"I can't." Shit, he was losing her. He strained against his ropes like somehow he could stop her. "Emma, I don't deserve to die for this, please." But it was too late, he'd lost the thrall that had drawn her close and she kept backing away into the dark. "I Know."

"Emma." He whispered, watching helplessly as her silhouette was swallowed by the darkness. He grit his teeth as her yanked against the enchanted bonds that would never give. "Don't go; Swan!" he called out as loud as he dared. But it was too late, she was gone. Killian knocked the back of his head against the tree in frustration. Born under a Furie star? What the hell did that have to do with anything happening right now? It didn't matter right then he decided, the important thing was that she'd come back. She had to come back...

* * *

As soon as the sun crept over the horizon Emma was up, she hadn't slept of course – how could she? He was out there, tied to a goddamn tree waiting to die. And first light was all the excuse she needed to get an early start so that she could busy her mind with something, anything else. She was done her morning chores well before half of the morning was actually over, she figured at the rate she was throwing herself into her daily routine she'd be well through most of her work before the day was out.

Leaving her with too much time to think. She felt so trapped in this house, knowing he was out there, waiting for time and neglect to do its work and send him off the mortal coil. She'd tried to tell him but... he hadn't known. She told him something no one in this small prison of a town would ever let her forget and he'd looked at her like he hadn't a damn clue what that was supposed to mean. How could he not know!? she thought, scrubbing at her counters viciously to vent her frustration. She'd always thought everyone knew exactly what it meant, that's what everyone had always told her – no one else would harbor a Furie born, nothing good could come from a Furie born, especially one with a heart like hers. And it had been so… oddly wonderful. To not watch understanding and disgust fill his face at the news. But it was also so frustrating because how was she supposed to explain this to him? Did she even… want to? Because once he understood he'd see she was no goddamn use to him, and he'd hate her like the rest of this damn town and…

She didn't want him to hate her too. For some reason she could take this whole town but she just… she couldn't stand him hating her too.

A knock at her door made her jump, nearly knocking a pail over. Emma put her face in her hands and sighed, she had to calm down. She grabbed the empty bucket before answering her door. She knew who it was of course, no one else ever came to her door. She just had to stay calm, he didn't know about last night. She opened the door, slid out and closed it behind her before actually facing him, making it clear as always he was not welcome.

Harris stood there, face impassive as he looked down at her.

"Good morning Emma."

"Harris," Emma nodded stiffly, trying not to fidget. "What brings you to my door today?"

"I think you know."

Emma did her absolute best not to react to that, even as her heart started to pound loudly in her throat.

"The Harvest festival is next week." He pressed when she said nothing. Emma had never wanted to let out a sigh of relief as badly as she did then but she managed to keep her face blank as she moved past Harris.

"I'm aware." She answered as he fell into step next to her.

"I would like for you to attend." Every year it sounded less and less like an invite. It was way too early to be playing this game, especially when it had to be played with such care. Emma started to walk a little faster. "We'll see."

"That's what you said last year. And the year before that. Every year since you were eligible I think, in fact." Harris said a little coolly, easily keeping pace with her. Yeah and he knew why too, she was sure everyone did. Every year she missed out, the less amicable the town was towards her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep putting it off without actually saying no.

"Well, I suppose this year we'll see again." Harris stepped into her path. She made to move around him but he blocked her way again and she found herself glaring.

"This game has grown old Emma, why put off the inevitable?"

And without meaning too, without even thinking, Emma found herself looking to the outskirts of town, to the tree where a dark figure sat tied. His head hung, and deep down she knew it was probably because he was resting, but a small part of her feared it was because he hadn't lasted the night. His head raised and inch or two like he could feel her eyes on him and her shoulders sagged a bit, she hadn't even realized they'd been so tense. Harris noticed both where he gaze went and her relief, so when he looked with her she practically felt his jaw tighten.

"You're a fool Emma."

"I'm not in love with him," She wasn't sure why that was the denial she went with but it was, even though it should have gone without saying, she barely knew him. "I just don't love you."

"I don't care whether you are or aren't, do or don't, Emma - that doesn't matter. You're meant for me."

She should have said nothing to that, just let it go. But she didn't, because that just wasn't in her damn nature.

"I thought the whole point of the harvest festival was the women of age choosing their husbands, as is tradition." Emma knew damn well tradition was the only thing saving her ass at this point. "And let's just say it's not much of a harvest here, unless you count the spread of weeds." Oh, she was going to regret that.  
Harris took a step closer so that he was effectively standing over her now.

"Let's cut the crap shall we? We both know no one else would ever take a Furie born, _could_ take a Furie born, except me." Emma looked away from him but he grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. "Stop putting off the inevitable," He glanced to where Killian was tied, "People will keep dying if you do."

God did that make her blood boil. Mostly because she was so sure that he was right, this might only be the beginning.

"You don't love me either," Emma said, pushing his hand away, "There are other star born in this town-"

"None that will make me as powerful as you. I thought you would jump on the chance to be freed of this."

To that Emma had no reply, at least not a safe one. Instead she put her bucket under one arm and pulled her hood up over her head. It wasn't freedom, it was one cage for another. At least this cage was hers. Luckily, she managed to force herself not to say that out loud.

"You _will_ be at the harvest festival." Harris said sternly. Emma met his eyes passively.

"We'll see," she answered, walking around him.

 **...**

 **Sorry for the long wait Guys! Trying to do battle with Writers block and I've been losing, until now! More of the picture is being revealed and I feel like by next chapter the full dynamic of this story will be revealed! Poor Killian is deep in the middle of some old superstitious magical crap I'm afraid. Fingers crossed that I can make this a full story with seven chapters.**


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had begun once more to sink behind the horizon, another day draining away into another cold night. Killian felt weaker, the elements taking their toll on him already, as well as the lack of food. Men could go a long time without food he knew, not so long without water. He'd had a drink, but that was last night and he wasn't sure he'd be getting another. It was Harris this night at the guardian post, to be sure that he suffered his death tied to this god forsaken tree. Killian found it odd that Harris did not taunt him, or speak to him at all. Perhaps he knew that just as there was no cure for him being an insufferable twat, there was no magical rope that could hobble Killian's wit.

Which they both knew, Harris was woefully out matched by.

Killian was too tired to start a volley of insults anyways, (but never too tired to finish them) so time passed slowly in silence, darkness closing in bit by bit until Harris had need to light his lantern. The more he thought of the man now guarding him, the greater his disgust for him grew. What kind of man harassed a woman like he did? As if he already owned her? As if he _could_ own her?  
Men like him deserved to be sheathes for steel. His thoughts turned from this man he hated to the woman he… his thoughts always turned to her for some reason, right? It was agonizing, wondering if she was going to return, the girl Emma Swan. He doubted it honestly, what with Harris, the giant cock blister, standing guard. But he hoped all the same that she would find a way, his little spark. _The reason I'm was here_ , he thought with a small frown.

She appeared to be many contradictory things, this "Furie" born girl, his knight in shinning-

The sound of a growl cut short his musing and he was ashamed to say did a number on his heart as he tensed. Another growl, behind him, very close; this time it was accompanied by at least two others. He saw the animal glare of their eyes only moments later, pin points in the dark that secured upon him with unnervingly fixed attention. They had not yet entered the light, but he could hear that perhaps more than three had now joined. Killian felt his heart in his throat, heavy beats that shook him against his will. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse...

They were circling, evaluating this helpless bit of meat so thoughtfully left out and restrained for them. It wasn't their growls that unnerved him so, strangely – but the patter of their feet. So soft, so slow, but growing closer; and that small edge of a whine in the sounds of their growls, as if they had not eaten in some time and grew brazen, more feral for it even. Normally he would not fear a band of coyotes, a fire kept most at bay, were they brave enough to near men. But he was helpless and there was no fire here to save him.

"Well, well – was wondering when those coyotes would finally come crawling in," his guards voice drawled from his post. Killian met the man's eyes, which squashed and lingering doubts he had of the man interceding on his behalf. "Bad luck, _mate,_ " the man laughed mockingly, standing from his seat. Was he leaving?

"Think I'll spend tonight in a bed," Harris called back casually, confirming his fear. "But, don't worry, I'll leave you the lantern. A man should be able to look his death in the eye, no?"

"Wait!" Killian called out, hating himself for it. Harris stopped and turned to face him, grinning.

"Last words?" he asked cheerfully. It crossed Killian's mind to offer a bribe, he had the gold after all, stashed here and there. Many things occurred to Killian then as ways to coerce this man, but it was Harris' eyes that put all these plans to the grave – because Killian could see it even from this distance in the flickering light of the lamp. Harris very much wanted Killian to die. So he swallowed, a near painful thing now, pulled his head high and did the last thing left to him – he denied Harris the pleasure of hearing him beg.

"Don't forget a hot bath – it wasn't my stench that drew the beasts." As taunts go it was not his best, but as his last words? There were worse to go out on.

Harris sneered at Killian, before turning his back. "Sleep well, Pirate."  
He disappeared into the dark, leaving only the hungry coyotes for company. They had begun to come close enough that the light bushed their shaggy hides, exposing them as ragged thin beasts. They would not circle much longer – the nips of teeth would soon be felt.

Killian shouted wordlessly, hoping to frighten them away. Though they did jump back, scatter and snarl in response, it was hardly half a minute before they were closing in again, their musky smell filling his nose.  
 _Eaten by coyotes, was that any way for a pirate to die?_ He wondered, closing his eyes, hoping they went for his throat first, end it for him more quickly…

And then a curious new noise met his ears. The patter of quick sure feet, but not the four legged kind, the sound of a cloak whooshing open in the wind. Killian's eyes shot open once more at the sound of a high kneeing yip and the considerable force of wood striking flesh.

There she was, dark cloak hood drawn over her head, a walking stick brandished in her hand as she jabbed and struck out at the mangy beasts beset upon him. One lunged bravely at her, but was kicked back before being struck across the snout. They took off like the cowardly creatures they were as Emma attacked, not willing to fight anything able bodied, or that fought back, for a meal. Emma panted for air, leaning on her stick, her chin and pale lips all that was visible to him. He was panting with her, as if he'd just helped her fight the beasts off.

"Are you alright?" Emma asked, her head still on that swivel, eyes scanning the world for danger from behind that shadowed hood.

"Darling," he nearly gasped, his head leaning back against the tree with sudden relief, "I may have to personally petition the bloody King himself for your knighthood." Killian was glad that his hands were not visible, that no one saw their trembling.

She continued to make sure they were alone, darting about as she spoke. "I think I would be a poor nomination frankly. I am, after all, the reason you're in this mess." Obviously content they were alone, that danger was low, Emma crouched down carefully near him, walking stick across her knee as he smiled, rather genuinely to his own surprise.

"Strange, could have sworn it was that grey, sunken-" he caught himself quickly, he was a pirate but he was a gentleman pirate, he did not befoul his tongue before a lady. "-piece of cod, stinking of desperation and entitlement, who put me here." God, he couldn't even see her face and she was a sight to behold. He'd sought to weave mystery about himself to draw her back to him, but she was the one who seemed to live in the very tapestry of mystery. He found had he not so desperately needed a friend right now, even if he had not been tied to a tree, he still would not have wanted her to leave.  
"Thank you. It is good to have you near enough that we may speak again." He would chose his topics more carefully, unravel this mystery…

She did not react to this, as if he had not spoken at all. He watched her take a deep breath and straighten her spine, like Emma was fortifying herself for something. He would not lie that it made him nervous – was she here to tell him she would not return? That this was their last interlude?

"I'm very sorry." She began, freezing his insides. "As you said yesterday, this has nothing to do with you. I've decided I will see you… through the trouble I've caused," she declared quietly, like she'd been thinking about this all day and had come to a firm decision of action at last. "Should you see the sixth day they should free you, they will credit god for it and see it as sign of your innocence."

He blinked mutely at her for a moment. Not at all what he'd been expecting. "Will they?" he said at last, "Happened before has it?"

"Not yet… but as a hypothetical it has been agreed upon."

Killian greatly doubted that Harris would let any such loophole thwart his very real desire for Killian to shake hands with death, but he did not dissuade her of this notion of hers; partly because he wished it to be true, and more so because he saw Emma wished it as well. She was trying to help, and was pledging to further guard him – he could see no downside to this.

He leaned against his ropes toward her, she tilted her head up in response, as if looking at him now through the shadows of her hood…

* * *

"Come lass, pull back the hood." He spoke softly to her, but not with the same coaxing as before. This felt… new. "You needn't hide your eyes from me." This was a strangely… intimate thing for him to say to her for some reason. Emma couldn't help but feel like it was like pleading, like he was asking something more of her, appealing to some part of her that brought her back to him. He asked the simplest things from her - to stay, to speak with him, for her name. But he asked in such a way it was as if he begged Emma for her very heart sometimes.

Slowly, Emma reached up, curling her finger around the edge of her ratty cloak hood and gently pulled it back, exposing her face. When his eyes met hers Emma felt like he was really seeing her. Not what she was, not what he thought her to be, not what he'd been told she was, but what she actually was. As she herself did not know the answer to that, she found it unnerving, and yet she could not look away. Emma didn't want to.  
Such a gift it was to just be… seen; a terrifying gift.

Then he was smiling. "There she is."

Emma was smiling back, when had that happened? She suddenly needed a second, tearing her eyes from his and reached into her bag, rustling things about as if not finding something specific that she'd brought for this visit.

"You'll be happy to know I've brought a little food," Emma found herself rushing to say; "and more of the herbs and water, it's not as cold tonight but still-"

"Is the fierce little Swan flustered? The girl who could not be charmed?" he asked, sounding immensely pleased, "So I _am_ the most charming man on all the high seas. I know this of course," he assured her very off hand like, "but it's so nice to have it confirmed every so often."

Emma chuckled, shaking her head as she met his eyes again. "On all the high seas?" she asked, rolling her eyes a bit with good humor. "Well I certainly believe the hype about your ship now."

"My ship?" he asked curiously.

"You very well have to have the best ship, Hook, any other vessel would have sunk under the weight of that ego," she jabbed, sounding almost playful. She could tell he liked this side of her.

"I think we cleared this up yesterday as well – not ego if it's true, love."

"Too soon for me to confirm that for you I'm afraid, Hook."

"Killian."

"Sorry?"

"Please, call me Killian."

"… Killian." She was forgetting herself, she was here for a reason Emma told herself firmly.

* * *

Killian liked the way she said his name, how her inflection rang on it and met his ears. His heart felt as if it suddenly might just give out under that smile, that glint of wry mischievous humor she tried to smother from herself but, thankfully, lived on in her eyes. He could never hold her eyes long however, she seemed unused to sincere eye contact, generally choosing to look to some far off horizon as they spoke. He was unsure if this was a symptom of her caution, or one of her status as the reviled pariah.

"I can't stay long," she told him, fishing a few things from her satchel, coming closer. "I doubt Harris' men are so foolish that they will risk leaving their post unmanned much longer. It's amazing they've left it this long." Before Killian could refute this, the mouth of her water skin was at his and he had to drink or choke, so he drank, rather greedily. "I won't be far, I'll keep the animals away," Emma assured him, presenting him with a piece of bread, covered in some hard cheese with a bit of apple. Words nearly flew his mind as the morsels of food met his lips, igniting his old hunger like some new fire in him gut. But he force himself to turn his head away, ignoring his hunger a moment longer for something more important.  
"What? Is something wrong?" she asked at his refusal.

"There will be no guard tonight, it was Harris himself who abandoned his post – he figures the coyotes are doing their work as we speak. We have the night it seems."

"… I half expected he'd stay to watch something like that," Emma admitted distastefully, pressing the bit of food back to his mouth again, this time watching Killian eagerly accept. "Perhaps he was more concerned with beauty sleep," she added scornfully as she waited for Killian to swallow before giving him another drink.

"There are not enough hours of sleep he could get to pretty his face, love."

"Let alone pretty his heart," she added more seriously, sliding from her cautious crouch to a more comfortable sitting position.

"I saw you two talking today," Killian said through a mouthful of bread. "Seems ever so intent you do something you don't want to do."

"You could hear us?" Emma asked, looking both very surprised and slightly anxious.

"No," he said shaking his head, "But my eyes told me what my ears could not. He attempts to bully a woman who will not be bullied. Who has sharp teeth but refuses to bite, very luckily for him I might add." Emma did not reply to this, instead fixing another bit of bread and cheese for him.  
"Does it have anything to do with this mysterious affliction you call being Furie born?" he asked tentatively.

Emma froze. He watched as shame twisted her features, she bowed her head so as to better hide her face in the shadows and the gold curtain of her hair. Too direct, this subject was too sore to come at right now it seemed. There was silence stretching between them as Emma clearly searched for words to give him; he decided to change the subject instead and save her the trouble. "I'm afraid I have a confession," he sighed theatrically just as she fed him another bit of food. Killian chewed and swallowed it as quickly as possible to finish the sentence with, "I've a very fuzzy recollection of our first meeting."

"Yes, I've gathered that," she said quietly, smiling very weakly, tilting head head enough to expose her face just a little to him again.

"I must have already been plastered before you arrived, else I would not have forgotten you."

"Save it Killian, your lines are unnecessary."

"Because you're already seduced, I know," he said, making a comical show of his confidence.

"You wish, pirate."

"What I'm attempting to ask is, would you perhaps relive the tale of how our paths crossed? Refresh my memory as it was?"

"A tale with supper?" Emma asked, appearing a little amused yet a touch nervous.

"If the lady is so willing to oblige," Killian added with a smile. He watched as she seemed to think it over, helping him to take another drink from the water skin.

"Alright," she agreed. Settling in a bit closer, she began the tale.


	6. Chapter 6

_Emma enter the Tavern, almost timidly. She'd never been out of her small town before, she'd been warned so often that not only would the world scorn her for what she was, but that she could bring misfortune to the honest who crossed her path._

 _But that night she couldn't sit in her home for one minute longer, stare at that ceiling until morning came to do the same thing all over again. So she dared to see for herself exactly what the world could throw at her. She'd felt braver thinking that than she actually felt as she sat down at the bar, hood up to hide her face, feeling hyper aware, heart in her throat. She'd never been in a tavern, it was louder than she was used to with music and conversation. It smelled like spirits, food, and tobacco. She liked it. Emma kept her hood up as she ordered an ale._

 _The bartender neither sneered nor ignored her, but poured her the drink and took her money before asking if she'd need board as well. She declined quickly and turned her face away from him, afraid he might recognize something in her and confirm her fear. He didn't chastise her for her abrupt refusal though, and went back to his work. Emma took herself to the edge of the bar for some semblance of privacy so she could evaluate her surroundings, sipping her ale as she took everything in._

 _There were barmaids, all pretty and very flirtatious, making rounds to all their customers. There seemed to be a great deal of women who were making it their soul job to be flirtatious, and a few who seemed to be negotiating payment for their interest. A great deal of the men were drunk, there was much uproarious laughter, especially from a table of people quite near her. They seemed to be playing some kind of game though she had no idea what it was, but it was apparently good fun with much pointing, yelling, drinking and whoops of victory. The women seemed to like this table, playing with them and getting just a little… uh… handsy in some cases. Apparently simply choosing to make out in full view of everyone at the table was normal. A lot of women seemed to be favoring one particular member sitting at the table, competing to turn his head. Emma could see why, he was very handsome, that dark hair, those blue eyes, and that smile he flashed around was blinding in so many ways. He was tucking the stray lock of hair behind one blushing brunettes ear before cooing something to the redhead who wrapped herself around his arm to regain his attention. Apparently he had enough favor to spread around. She caught a flash of silver as he gestured drunkly at something and was surprised to see where a hand should have been he wore a hook._

 _Even she had heard the stories, apparently she'd picked a hell of a night to damn the fates and visit this tavern. Scoundrels were about apparently, and so were famous pirates; but she found it didn't terribly bother her. He seemed very occupied, she doubted she'd get much trouble from this crew._

 _Her hood was yanked back from her head suddenly, she jerked away from the intrusion instinctively, on her feet in an instant to face whoever the hand belonged to. One man, who had friends._ _She'd been focusing on that loud table too long, not seeing the approach of the three men who were now looking her up and down. Emma put her ale to her lips, throwing it back and putting it back hurridly on the bar. She cast her eyes down and made to leave, but they blocked her path past them._

" _See!" the man slurred to his friends, pointing at her. Horror seized her. They were right, they'd all been right, they knew. "Told *hic* you! A girl in a man's cloak!"_

 _Emma sort of froze at that, now off balance. True she wore men's cloaks and occasionally men's clothing, favoring the practicality of trousers, but no one had ever pointed that out as overly odd to her – she had much other odd attributes worthy of scorn._

" _That there is a woman," his other friend corrected, a lust filled smile stretching his face. "How about you join us? We've got a fair bit of coin to give, how much are ya?"  
She stepped back from them, but they stepped forward, or rather stumbled, with her._

" _No." She said it shortly, uncomfortable, taking another step back. "I mean, I'm… not for sale."_

" _Not a working girl? Unfortunate," he sighed, all three of them still closing that space she put between them._

" _Ignore my friend, let me woo you the old fashioned way, heh? Come on, let me refill that tankard," the one who'd pulled her hood back said reaching for her, she backed out of his reach a bit panicked. The back of her leg caught on a chairs as she did, tripping her. She tried to grab something, back pedaling a few steps to try to get her feet under her to no avail. So she screwed her eyes shut, preparing to hit the floor._

 _Only Emma didn't hit the floor, she landed on_ _ **someone.**_ _And that person smell like spice, leather and rum.  
When Emma opened her eyes, she found that she had fallen right into the lap of Captain Hook, who looked startled by a woman falling on him. Emma couldn't move, both of her hands had somehow curled into the lapels of his fine jacket, and she couldn't seem to uncurl them. So much for thinking she'd get no trouble from this table. She couldn't look away, he smiled at her, looking as amused as he did pleasantly surprised by her intrusion._

" _Well lads, seems another lass has fallen for me," There was laughter around the table and Emma blushed furiously, quickly pulling her hood up._

" _Oi!" Emma and Hook both looked to the three men who had edged her over here. It was the drunken lead who'd yanked her hood down. "That there is our girl!"_

" _That true, love?" Hook asked, grabbing his tankard to take a long drink. He watched her shake her head. "She disagrees, and since her opinion is the only one that matters, you three may go." He put his tankard down and shooed them away arrogantly with a wave of his hand._

" _Now hold on a damn minute-"_

 _ **Thud!**_

 _Without warning Hook had raised his arm and drove the point of his silver hook deep into the table, the room quieted noticeably as Hook glared at the men who seemed to realize who he was. The mood had shifted in a very dangerous direction and Emma was ashamed to admit she was a little afraid to move and draw attention to herself, eyes in her lap._

" _Piss off," Hook growled. And all three men did, in a very great hurry. He wrenched his hook from the table and examined the point. "Hmmm, need to dull this bloody thing," he muttered to himself. Like that everything seemed to go back to the late night drunken party it was around this table, with Emma still inexplicably in his lap. Hook bounced her a few times on his knee, as if she were a child.  
_

 _"Chin up lass!" he said, trying to make eye contact with her as she continued to stare down, trying to peer into her hood. "No need to be scared, sent off the bad men! Although truth be told, I'm not the most law abiding citizen myself," he confessed to her drunkly. "But I'm a gentlemen, even when I'm a rotten bastard, right lads?!" a cheer went up around the table as glasses and tankards were raised to clink roughly against one another as they drank to that. He winked at her when he finally caught her eye and Emma gave him a weak smile. "I don't bite, unless they want me to," he flirted aside, rather shamelessly.  
_ _"And as amendable as I am to our current position, would you care to be on your way? Or for your own seat, if you wish to stay?" he asked. Emma was entirely ready to leave, but she stopped herself from doing so. It was a bit of a rough start true but… she didn't want to let herself be chased off at the first set back. She really wanted to see if the stories about what she was as true or false at last. This wasn't just a visit to a tavern for her._

" _I'll stay," Emma said, blushing once more as she remembered she was still sitting in his lap. He tilted his head, pressing a finger behind his ear as if he couldn't hear her, even though she was so close to him the sweet rum on his breath brushed through her hair._

" _Come on, love, use those lungs!" he encouraged playfully. "Would you like to play a few drinking games with the scourge of the sea herself?" he asked, a spark of challenge in his eyes as he gestured to himself and his men, who muttered and laughed their agreement. That spark of challenge ignited a little something in her, and though she'd never played a drinking game before, or drank with others much at all, she felt suddenly emboldened._

" _Sure, I've never drank pirates under the table before." A circle of ooo's and more laughs._

" _We've got us a live one lads!" Hook announced to the group, grinning as he shifted Emma into an empty stool next to him that had just appeared. As soon as she was moved, the other women had moved back in, trying to regain Hook's attention. However, where before he'd been turning his attention to whoever was needling him for it, with their coy touches and whispers with lips pressed to his ear, it seemed this time Hook's eye was rather caught on... her? Emma noticed, she always noticed when people noticed her, which she found odd since her hood was up. She set herself to quickly deducing the game while more drinks were brought._

 _He seemed more than happy to explain the rules to her. He slipped her a silver coin, she was about to go on the offensive and tell him she wasn't a damn professional until he explained._

" _You bounce the…" he pointed at the coin, "into the, uh…" he pointed at the other man's tankard across from her. "and if you make it he, uh…" he mimed taking an absurdly long drink, which made her shake her head, chuckling quietly to herself. "But if you miss-"_

" _I drink," she finished, smiling._

" _Excellent, yes!" he agreed loudly, taking a long pull from his ale, "So you've played?" he said enthusiastically. She wasn't sure how he came to that conclusion but she just shook her head._

" _Ah, course, well," Hook leaned in close gently taking her wrist and pulling it into position, his face almost right next to hers. She wasn't sure what he was doing, thinking at first he was trying to peer into her hood again until he, rather clumsily, pointed with his hook to a spot on the table._

" _That there," he said, lining up her hand carefully. "That's the sweet spot."_

" _Help er all ya want Cap, I don't think the lass can make it," the man challenged gruffly, though Emma could tell it was in good fun._

" _Just bounce and in, not too hard. Give 'er a go."_

 _So she did, aiming not for the man's drink but the spot Hook had lined her up for, everyone around that table was quiet for a moment. She bounced the coin, and was rewarded by the soft plop of it landing in her opponents drink. A cry went up around the table, as the man grinned and took a long drink, opening his mouth to reveal the coin to his crew mate's amusement before continuing the game._

 _And so she'd begun drinking with the pirates, and despite her big talk, lucky first shot, and the fact they had a generous head start into inebriation, she quickly realized they could out drink her any day of the week. Six coin bounces had found her drink and she was pretty tipsy, and considering the rough start to this adventure she felt pretty… good. Better than good, even, Emma felt like she was forgetting her whole life up to this moment. She was very much getting into this game, and they welcomed her growing enthusiasm. They welcomed her._

 _Hook had shooed his admirers a bit further from him, no longer welcoming their touches. He seemed as though now he was more interested in satisfying some curiosity he had about her. As the others engaged in conversation and a wealth of trash talking while the game was played, her and Hook had begun their own conversation._

" _What's your name, love?"_

" _Maybe I don't have a name tonight," she told him, almost coyly._

" _Well, isn't that mysterious? Why would a lovely bird like you have no name, tonight of all nights?" he asked, propping his elbow on the table and leaning his face into his hand with an intrigued smile._

" _To be fair I may *hic* I may never have a name again!" she declared boldly, liquor really heating her blood now as she drank more to rid herself of the hiccough. "Maybe I'll follow the famous pirate's example and make one up!"_

 _He genuinely laughed at that._ " _To be fair lass," he began, holding up his silver hook, "I sort of just got stuck with mine."_

" _Didn't we all? I mean, do I even look like an Emma to you?"_

" _Well, you do now," he said, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Woops._

" _That's not my name," she tried quickly, and very lamely._

" _Of course not, Emma," he teased. "I mean, Emma, clearly you would not tipsily admit your name, Emma, when we were so wonderfully building up intriguing tension with no names and dark hoods, now would you, Emma?"_

" _Oh my god, shut up already," she said, reaching with both hand into her hood to cover her face to muffle her laughing and seal off any hint of her embarrassed blushing._

" _As you wish, dear Emma. As the great K. Hook Jones, I shall zip these lips with more rum," he promised, pulling head from his hand to pull a flask from inside his jacket. "Oh dear, seems I let slip my initial AND a last name," he observed, taking a sip from the flask before winking to her. "Seems we're on even footing again."_

 _A coin bounced into her drink and she cursed as she took up her drink and pounded it back, reaching into the mug for the coin. After a very lucky bounce that landed the coin in another man's cup she went back to speaking with Hook._

" _Wanna hear a secret?" she asked brazenly._

" _Oh, I do love secrets," he said leaning closer to her, intrigued._

" _I've always wanted a last name."_

" _No last name?" he asked as a coin bounced over his drink and into his lap. "Ha! Nice bloody try you drunk cad!" Hook taunted, grabbing the coin to bounce back, attempting to shift himself in his seat to better bounce the coin. However, he lost his balance and fell from his chair to the floor._

" _Oh!" Emma blurted out as she shot to her feet and helped haul him back up to his feet. He threw his arm over her shoulder, laughing as he staggered._

" _Lell wads, think I've drowned myself in coins tonight!" he declared to the laughter of his crew. "Think I'll sit the round out, try to dry off. My lady!" he said, addressing her regally. "Will you join me for a more private drink?" he asked as she kept him on his feet, pointing to a corner booth._

" _I shall," she accepted, helping him walk to the empty booth as he bid his men farewell, and they whistled and hollered back._

" _Ignore them," he said as she deposited him in the booth before sliding a little clumsily herself into the other side._

" _They think you're going to "get lucky" I believe."_

" _Dear Emma, I've already gotten lucky – after all you fell into my lap, how much more good fortune could befall me?" he asked._

"… _That was a pretty good answer."_

" _It was, wasn't it?" he agreed as a few more drinks were brought to them._

" _You're very good at talking to women," she observed. He seemed rather surprised by how blunt she was._

" _I suppose I am."_

" _Would you mind just… talking with me?" she asked. He examined her over his drink with eyes that were glassy, but still harboring his sharp, curious mind._

" _I believe I would enjoy that greatly."_

* * *

 _For the next few hours they talked, he told stories of his travels, his adventures, she told him a few jokes, he shared some of his. Topics of life came and went, philosophical views were shared. Soon they found the conversation growing one of the most honest she'd ever had, and by the way he looked at her, she was beginning to wonder if it was the same for him._

" _Sounds like you've lived an exciting life so far," she told him._

" _And you," he said, pushing his tankard away and leaning on the table, "sound like you're living a complicated one."_

" _I haven't told you much, how would you know?" she was oiled well enough by the ale to not feel anxious as she asked._

" _The little you did tell me, the care you take with every word. I'm inhe… ineeebr… I'm drunk but I'm still listening," he informed her with a wobbly point of his finger._

" _You're really drunk."_

" _I am very drunk," he agreed, both of them laughing giddily, which turned to them both laughing so much they were left gasping for air. She knew the observation wasn't actually that funny, but it turned out Captain Hook had a very contagious giggle, and he seemed to find the same of hers. "May I ask you a question?" he ventured once they'd gotten a better hold of themselves, wiping a tear from his eye._

" _As many as you like." She didn't commit to answering any of them however._

" _Why are you here tonight?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Well, love, you came alone, and it's fairly obvious you've never been to a tavern before." She found it fascinating how much he seemed able to discern about her. Normally it would have unnerved her. "It's more than curiosity, you're determined about something."_

"… _I wanted to… I wanted to know what it was like."_

" _What 'what' was like?" he asked, leaning closer._

" _I… just wanted to know if my life could be different. Is that foolish?"_

" _Never," he answered without hesitation. "It'd be foolish to never wonder that." Before she could respond to that casual assurance he was moving on. "You told me earlier you didn't have a last name," he prompted._

" _I don't. Not really."_

" _Well!" he declared, taking a quick swig from his flask before handing it to her. "How about we fix that? A different kind of life requires and new name, a nickname, a last name – it's the pirate way."_

" _Are you initiating me Captain Hook?" she asked, examining the flask._

" _Maybe," he answered playfully. She'd actually thought about it before, and she'd always rather liked the way one name had sounded with her first name._

" _Swan," she said slowly, raising the flask._

" _Emma Swan," Hook repeated, rolling it over his lips like he was tasting it, "Rather fitting."_

 _Emma felt suddenly taller, more confident, more… something. She took a sip, and immediately made a face._

" _That is very strong," she said roughly, handing it back._

" _I use it to clean rust off my hook occasionally," he joked._

" _Oh, lovely."_

" _Isn't it just?"_

* * *

" _Why do you wear your hood?" he asked after more talk had passed between them of varying subjects._

" _I'm not terribly good at hiding how I feel," she admitted. "I feel safer knowing people don't know what I'm thinking."_

" _Ah, the burden of an honest face," he said with a nod. "I'm sure that makes your conversations interesting."_

 _"No one really..._ n _o one has ever spoken with me like this before."_

 _"Ah..." he said, taking this in for a moment.n_ _"Would you like to hear one of my secrets?" he asked. Emma nodded. "I've never spoken with anyone like this either." That seemed genuine, but maybe they were both just drunk, Emma decided not to pull it apart or doubt it, just this once._ _"Also, if no one speaks with you much... well that explains it," he said matter-of-factly, nursing a bit of water at last._

" _Explains what?" she asked, amused, sure that he was about to volley another joke as they'd been doing for awhile now._

" _That no one has seen how beautiful you are, Emma Swan."_

 _Ah, a flirty remark this time, though he said it seriously that was all it could be. "You can barely see my face Hook, and you only got a glance of me earlier," she said, rolling her eyes with a smile._

" _You're more than a face, love."_

 _Those words… the silence between them was… words were so insufficient for what that one simple sentence did to the atmosphere between them. The silence stretched, she didn't move, he began to look apologetic. Just before he opened his mouth though, Emma spoke very quietly._

" _That was your best line yet."_

" _Wasn't a line this time," he answered just as quietly._

 _Another beat of silence passed between them. Then, very slowly she reached up, pushing her hood back at last, exposing her face to him. Hook gazed at her, and for the first time, she felt seen without feeling afraid._

" _Do you have a room?" she asked._

* * *

 _She closed his door behind them as he stumbled further into the small room he had for the night._

" _I've never done this before," she told him for maybe the third time. She heard him fall into the bed and sigh._

" _I've terribly news then, Swan." She turned to face him to see he was on his back, boots still on, one arm flung across his eyes. "I'm 'fraid the ale 'as defeated me," he slurred. Emma blinked, she hadn't expected that._

" _Oh."_

" _Forgive me." He sounded embarrassed. That made two of them._

" _It's alright," she assured him. It was probably better this way she thought, preparing to leave._

" _Don't go," he said quickly, as if still reading her mind as he unclasped his hook and dropped it carelessly to the floor. He motioned her to come to him, so she did. He reached up and pulled her to the bed, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. At first she was surprised, but she found his arm around her warm and… safe. His hot breath brushing her neck as his chest rose and fell like a comforting metronome._

" _Promise not to puke on me?" she asked sleepily. She almost felt him smile into her hair._

" _Promise." They were both soon sound asleep without another word._

* * *

 _She woke early, with the first few rays of the sun, curled into him like a small kitten as he softly snored. For a time she just lay there, trying to commit every aspect of this moment to memory so she could visit it later for years to come. Then, very gently, she extracted herself from his embrace, though he seemed reluctant and frowned in his sleep. She stared down at him, just taking in his face._

"… _Thank you." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then she quietly left. As she closed the door behind her, she turned and leaned against the rail, enjoying the strange glow that filled her chest. Why bother going back to the town that hated her? No one had known what she was, why not go out and see the rest of it? Why not have a different life? Why not be Emma Swan?  
And then, as these new thoughts filled her head, Emma looked down, and she froze. That light glowing in her turned to lead in her chest. A man looked up from the floor at her, a man she knew – one of Harris' friends. She pulled up her hood in a flash, but it was too late, he'd seen her, coming from someone else's room. Oh god. _

_She raced to get out of the tavern, but he blocked her off at the stairs._

" _The hell are you doing here?" he demanded. She said nothing at first. He grabbed her wrist."I asked you a question."_

" _None of your damn business," she shot back coldly, wrenching her hand from his grip. He looked past her to the room she'd come from._

" _That there man has no idea the curse you've brought on him." Guilt stabbed at her so hard she nearly bent over with it. She wanted to tell him he was a liar, she wanted to believe he was a lair, hadn't this night proved they were all wrong? But he said it so surely, he believed it so much that she... doubted._

" _Tell you what," he began coldly, "You get on the horse you rode here, follow me back to where you bloody belong now, and I won't_ immediately _tell Harris what I just saw." But he would still tell him. Emma felt trapped, a bad choice was before her. But a bad choice was still a choice. If he didn't tell Harris immediately, Hook could leave, and maybe it would turn out that she really hadn't cursed him._

 _She nodded mutely, hating him as he guided her out of the tavern. Emma followed him back to her home town._

* * *

He felt full for the first time in days, content and tired with only the dull aching of his body to remind him of the last few days. But he had barely noticed the ebbing of all his various pains in the grips of her story. Of _their_ story.

"As you can see, not the way it turned out. You came back a few weeks later, and he was there when you did." Emma sighed, her shoulders looking heavy.

"So… we never actually-"

"Nope," she said with a half-hearted try at a smirk, as if not surprised he'd focus on that part.

"That uh... that's not a common thing, for me," he tried to reassure her, like he'd get a second chance, which was absurd. He hoped it was humorous.

"Oh my god, your poor ego right now," she said, but it lacked any real mirth.

Killian seemed to think on this for a bit. "Never been tried for something I didn't do before… I feel a bit righteous about my innocence." He admitted jokingly, still trying to lighten the mood the end of the story had brought.

"I'm sorry," Emma said softly.

"Swan," he said, purposefully using the name she'd picked for herself the night they'd met. She looked up at him, eyes shining wetly. "I don't know why you think you have such a powerful control over the fates, or how your companionship might curse anyone – but you didn't do this to me."

"… The suns coming up. I better go." And like a shadow being chased by the dawn she swept to her feet and she left him. He watched her go, wondering how she could tell a story like that and still leave him with more questions than he'd had before.

"See you tomorrow night." She didn't hear it, already gone from sight; but if she had, she'd have said it sounded like a prayer.

That prayer was heard however, and it was met but an intruding, mocking laugh. Killian's head swiveled in alarm until he locked onto someone stepping out of hiding near by.

"Well," Harris said, coming to crouch in front of Killian, looking like a cat with a struggling canary in it's teeth. "What a lovely story. Honestly, teared up a little a few times. Especially that last part." He put did his best impression of Killian's voice. _"You didn't do this to me."_

Killian said nothing to his sarcastic taunts, teeth grit together as his stomach dropped into his feet. He put it together quickly. He'd been bait. Bait for her.  
Harris didn't miss him putting this together. "Yeah, she's a bit of a soft heart deep down underneath all that Furie magic. Doesn't take much to bend her once you figure out where to press, so thanks for that - my job just got a whole lot easier."

 _Oh no._

"Don't you fucking touch her," Killian growled. Harris rolled his beady eyes.

"Sure thing," he sneered. "I think it's my turn to tell the pirate a story now. A story about Furie born children..."


	7. Chapter 7

Harris sat across from him, much as Emma had, but where she was warry, quiet and comforting – Harris sprawled out, arrogant and gloating as he lit a paper smoke with a match. He took a long drag and blew it out in Killian's face with a yellow toothy grin, ugly with its malice. Killian wrinkled his nose in something that closely resembled a snarl.

"She really thinks you give a damn about her, doesn't she?" Harris asked, obviously not really expecting an answer. Killian wouldn't have sullied his tongue to convince him of anything. "Honestly, she should know better."

"Because you tell her constantly no one ever will?" Killian asked venomously. And he knew she very nearly believed them. She was at the precipice of something huge, and in a way they both knew it.

"Right, sorry – forgot, we're the villians of this piece aren't we? Because we're all just _so mean_ to the poor little blond maiden." Harris spit on the ground, like just saying the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "A pirate and a Furie born, you two were meant for each other – Honestly? I wouldn't have cared if you really had had her that night. I just can't have her running off, to chase you or anything else. So hey, maybe one day I'll bury her next to you."

Killian strained against his ropes then, like he could magically find the strength right there to snap the bonds that held him and launch himself at Harris, drive his fist into his face until he grew to tired to raise his arm. But the be spelled rope did not break, and Harris's teeth remained in his head as he laughed at Killian.

"Save your strength Hook, I'm not gonna kill her." There was an ominous lingering to his words, as if an unspoken "yet" hung in the air. "But I also can't have this little rendezvous continue, what with her getting all mushy on you, the harvest festival – I'll get to that – and you supposed to be dying and all that." He took another drag on his smoke, the end blazing bright enough to reflect in his eyes, his gaze suddenly all the more sinister.

"I could not be less interested in your lies, Harris."

"Ask her, the next and last time you see her, go ahead and ask if I lied," he challenged, grinning smugly. "How should we start?" Harris asked. "Once upon a time, perhaps?"

"Fuck you."

"Hmm. A few thousand years ago, then…" Harris continued, immensely enjoying himself already ...

* * *

 _The great Furies walked freely on this earth. They were beautiful creatures; powerful, decisive, and when trifled with? Vengeful beyond measure. They ripped those they called wicked from their beds, they could raze acres of land with fire in minutes, they left few survivors of their wrath when wronged or serving their merciless justice. But in equal measure they were prone to whims of kindness, lending power to the land for better crops, teaching the secrets of healing magics' to mages, warlocks, witches and the like. You knew a Furie when you saw one, always wearing a silk sash that was a red deeper and more vibrant than freshly spilt blood. Though they roamed and visited this place, they did not belong here. They returned to where ever it was they came every so often, using the stars as their time table, and in their spell casting of which the ways no mortals or fairies could comprehend. Soon they all began to forgo any return visit from where they came, as if their time was done here. One day, the village mage, our village mage, detoured from the path of his journey home when he heard the faint strings of a beautiful song, like the sound of silver bells. The singing led him to a lake, where the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen was singing, clothes strewn on the limb of a tree as she frolicked in the cool waters of the summer day._

 _The mage had never seen such a beautiful, carefree creature in all his life. She entranced him, she terrified him. He said he could have listened to her sing and watched her swim forever._ _She spotted him, and unabashed of her nakedness, she came to him, spoke with him._

 _"Greetings, dabbler of magic."_

 _"Greetings, most lovely of maiden's," he replied breathlessly._

 _It's not said what they talked about, but it was clear that the village mage was fond of her, fond enough to return to the lake everyday to find her, so that they may speak again. Their conversations only grew his deep fondness for her over the months._ _But word had been spreading – the Furies were disappearing, and he feared soon he would come to the lake, perhaps wait as he sometimes did, and never see her again. One day, his worst fears were confirmed, she told him soon she would go and never return._

" _Why?" he'd asked._

" _All things have their time," she'd told him. "Come to me tomorrow, I should like it if you were the last face I saw when I leave."_

 _So he did come the next day, a truly hot day, as if the sun was summoning her. Like the first day they had met, she had burdened a tree with her clothes and bathed in the lake, unaware he was there yet. In a moment of rash impulse, knowing he would likely never see his bell voiced Furie again, he stole her sash, just so that he would have something of hers and left, unable to say goodbye. He placed it in a box and he buried it in a secret place for safe keeping. That night, he was woken by the fiercest most ungodly of shrieks, it shook his very house. He ran to his window to see her, in all her glory, standing outside his place._ _In a panic he raised a barrier on the spot to keep her and her wrath at bay, though the power it cost him left him so weak he could hardly stand for days after._

" _I know it was you," she'd cried, after fruitless attempts to storm his small cottage. "Return my sash immediately, or I will turn this house to ash with you in it!"_

 _He was entranced as he was terrified by her. "I do not have it."_

" _Do not insult me dabbler, your tongue is weighted in your head with lies. You have betrayed my trust."_

" _I mean to say it is not here, I have hidden it."_

" _Then tell me where."_

" _It was only a sash! I stole it I know, but only so that I may remember you when your kind is gone, I will give you another! Of the finest silk money can buy, perhaps so you may remember me."_

" _I cannot have another in its stead dabbler, without my sash I am unable to return home with the rest of my sisters."_

 _The mage was shocked to hear this, never having dreamed an article of clothing to have such power over her._ " _How long do Furies live?" he asked_

" _I opened my eyes long before your line of dabblers was conceived, they will be open long after yours close forever."_

" _If we are but mayflies to you and your kind, what is a little more time here?" He asked_

" _What is it you are proposing?"_

" _Stay here, with me. Bare me sons and daughters so that I shall miss you less when you are gone," he said. "Stay for twenty years, a blink for you, but a considerable time for me. Do this and on the sunset of this day twenty years from now, I will return your sash to you."_

" _You play with fire, dabbler."_

" _Those are my terms."_

 _The Furie did not seem happy about this, but she agreed that twenty years was not so long in a lifespan spanning thousands. So she agreed, and she bore him five sons and one daughter in their time together. She taught her children many things in this time, like how those born under certain stars sometimes had those sparks in their souls, which sometimes gave abilities, and sometimes never showed._

" _Star born gifts are fickle," she told them. She never seemed to much mind these other little star born as she called them, till she met her eldest son's best friend. She named him comet born, and maintained both disdain and distance in his presence. When her eldest son's best friend, Nathaniel, began to show interest in her daughter she banished him from ever coming near her again. When her eldest asked her why she had behaved so cruelly to his best friend, she replied, "He is comet born."_

" _So?"_

" _They are dangerous to Furie born, my son. His spark is one of snaring, by nature he channels, changes, and binds any magic that touches him. He could imprison your sister, perhaps without even meaning to. Keep him away from her."_

 _So her eldest son obeyed her wish, and kept his sister at a distance from Nathaniel. The Furie's lessons continued, her new family learning a great many other things; to her husband a few secrets on the power of constellations and burning stars, to her sons she further taught of healing and mage was happy, and the Furie was content with him and her children. But never would she be content enough to stay forever. The mage knew this, he'd always known this, but he had hoped that loving her would change her mind. He also knew, however, that it was their daughter who she who she was closest to among all her children, the only one she had taught of **her** kind's stars; who he knew she had taught the Furie way. He hoped that perhaps if she would not stay for him, she would stay for their daughter, their children._

" _That is the Furie star," the mage overheard her telling their daughter one night, another private lesson. "It burns bright with our love, our rage, our magic and our passion. It burns bright when one of us is born, to welcome and warm us into any world we find ourselves. When you were born, it lit the sky like a lantern. You are the only Furie born of my children. When I leave this place, will you come with me?"_

 _His daughter said yes, and the mage was suddenly burdened with the prospect of two losses, feeling twice as grieved that instead of staying, his Furie wife would simply take his daughter too. But he was not nearly as sorrowed as his eldest son, who was also listening in. He was both shocked and heartbroken that his mother was to leave them all and only take his sister, after he had been so faithful to all her teachings and commands._

 _One night, he bade Nathaniel come, when his mother was away, and bid him to go to his sister. With the knowledge of both his father and his mother, with Nathaniel's gift, he managed to bind his sister to his best friend. He had no idea how he was to keep his mother with the family however, since he knew not where to find her sash, and that his honorable father would fulfill his agreement soon. So he got his father very, very drunk that same night, and managed to get the location of his mother's sash, the night before the vow was to be complete. He dug it from the ground and he burned the sash, sure that his mother would now have no choice but to stay with them._

 _The moment the very last scrap of its fabric burnt to ash he heard an enraged shriek from which the likes could only come from the most cross of Furie creatures. When he raced home, he was horrified to find his brother's slaughtered, his sister standing with their blood on her night gown, and his father in the grips of his wife's crimson splattered hands. Her eyes burning like comets, her hair like white fire. He stayed hidden in the bushes, terrified to be caught in his mother's gaze as she raged._

" _The pact is broken!" she cried, "I felt my way home burn as if it were my own skin! You have killed me! I feel my daughter is bound in the invisible chains of the comet born. You have made us slaves to this world, to this time! If I now perish, then all you love shall perish too!" she left him dying of the mortal wound she'd given him, and took to the village, to continue her slaughter and take every last drop of her vengeance out upon them all with her daughter at her side. The eldest son went to his father's side, held his hand as his he gave him his last duty before parting the mortal coil._

" _You must stop her," he told his last son. "You must save the village, she will leave no survivors. But please, spare your sister, spare my daughter..."_

 _His eldest son watched his father die, murdered by his mother, and took up his hunting bow to confront her with his best friend. When he arrived the town was in flames, bodies lay strewn in hideous broken ways. His mother rampaged as his sister followed behind her, caught in the throes of her Furie blood. He knocked an arrow into his bow, pulled the string, his aim for her heart, and he fired. His aim struck true, but he did not expect her to fall as she did; for he had thought her kind too durable to be felled by a single arrow. He did not know that he had already weakened the creature when he burned her sash, he had only hurried the inevitable. She lay dying in her daughters arms, upon with her last breath she imbued with the star spells of her kind._

" _Daughter, you are bound but your children shall be free. May your heart carry my wrath, may it do my vengeance, may your presence here leave no peace to my betrayers, blood of my blood, avenge me forever."_ _The Furie at last died and the eldest son watched as his sister wept. After a time she stood, her eyes like comets and her hair crackling with lightning._

" _The blood of this family has been spilt, it has been broken, and it is all your doing!" she accused him angrily, refusing responsibility._

" _You are bound to Nathaniel, your magic can harm no one," he reminded her._

" _Her vengeance shall always live on," she promised him._

 _But no vengeance was to be had it seemed. Nathaniel's comet born power turned her rage, her curse, all her Furie power to everything it was not – her desire to destroy was turned naturally by Nathaniel into power that only benefited and helped the village. Protection seeped into the very dirt, it helped the crops grow bountiful, it coaxed rain and good fortune._

 _But even Nathaniel could not negate a curse a Furie that powerful had cast. Nathaniel and her bore children, who had children, and her rage carried in the blood._

 _Every so often this line of Furie blood was awoken, a Furie heart beat, the star burned bright, and the curse of misfortune and death resumed, reaping destruction and heaping misfortune on the village and all whom they met, until a comet born could bind them._

 _A Furie born could abate her curse for a time, she must never use her magic, must always keep her temper less it loose the old magic of blood vengeance. But eventually a Furie born must have a comet born keep her, so that the village could thrive, the people could be safe from the crime of their ancestors once knowing a mage who loved a Furie._

* * *

Harris ground the ash of his cigarette into the ground. "A bloody little tale it is. We all are told this, but I was told it because I had a duty, a destiny. I am comet born here. The only comet born, her power must become mine - I am the savior of this village."

"Is that comet what you got instead of a brain?" Killian sneered, laughing bitterly. A bitter little asshat with delusions of grandeur, forever encouraged by everyone of how deserving he was of it all - it explained so much. "I've heard some propaganda bullshit in my time, sailing from crown country to crown country – but that there takes the bloody cake." Harris shrugged as if this mattered very little to him.

"I may have thought that every so often in my youth. But then one night little Emma lost her little temper in a barn after a bit of light teasing, as kids are one to do. She burned it down – two kids died, three barely survived. Lost a season's worth of feed and six horses. Changed my tune after that." Harris watched Killian's face as he told him that, looking smug, gleeful even at having reveal this to him. He also saw Killian didn't believe him. Emma would never just loose her bloody temper and kill, she was no that kind of woman, did he really expect one spoonful of this drivel to sicken him against Swan? "Ask her," Harris simply challenged again, and Killian hated him more for his superior tone, for his sheer surety.

"You're not a savior mate, you're just another entitled jackass." Harris brow furrowed, his teeth clenched.

"A dishonorable pirate would know, right? Anyways, she doesn't have to marry me in theory of course to be bound, she is still granted the village custom of choosing her own husband as long as I am her keeper – but if it's not a comet born husband, her magic is never bound to me, to the earth the village sits on, no protection, no good fortune, no grander than grand crops…" He trailed off and smiled. "Village has grown rather accustomed to these perks you see. And every year she's dodged it, crops bare less, winters cold is finally starting to touch us. Village don't much like it."

"So that's it?" Killian laughed, "that's the horse shit story you drill into these girls so you can brow beat them and guilt them into marriages so you all can have an extra cob of corn with your meals?"

"You think for a second she won't kill us all the moment she uses her magic or loses that precious temper again?" Harris sneered. "Just because she so pretty and kind? She can't be anything except what she is, and her very blood demands vengeance. Sure, she's done a hell of a job caging her own damn heart, but that won't last forever, it leads her to ruin others as it was meant to do – you're living proof," he told Killian. Then he smiled, and it was a hideous expression on his face, laughing at him. "Well, living for now anyways." Without warning he leaned forward and slammed his fist against Killian's jaw. He was left seeing stars that danced with blackness as Harris' voice floated to him somewhere beyond.

"Sweet dreams…"

 **...**

 **So** **there we have it, the explanation of what it means to be Furie born! Why the town hates her, why Harris is, in a word, her ward. But how much truth is there to the legend? All of it? None of it? Something in between?  
Who knows...**

 **(I do. I know.) :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Not sure if anyone is still reading but here we go anyways! :)**

 **...**

From the second Emma heard the firm knocking at her door, she knew that nothing good was to come in her immediate future. She sat bolt upright in bed, barely having slipped under her worn quilt, her heart already hammering. _Don't panic, don't panic. Act guilty get caught, act guilty get caught…  
_ The mantra helped her get out of bed and slip into a decent cloak. She was almost to the door when she heard Harris's voice.

"Emma!"

Her heart fell into her feet, her stomach constricted to the size of a pebble. She felt something heavy in her chest, some bill had come due, she knew it. _It always comes due, when will you learn?_ The knocking came again when apparently she did not come to answer it quickly enough, harder this time, impatient and angry. "I know you're in there," came Harris's unwelcome voice again, "Open up," he ordered.  
Emma took a deep breath, steadying herself before reaching to unlatch the door. He was still knocking when she opened it, just a sliver so she could peer through the crack at him.

"This is the definition of an indecent hour to come calling," she told him, mustering a droll annoyance into her voice. Harris did not reply to that, instead he forced the door open with a strong arm, pushing past her and invading her home, like he had every right to do so.

"Hey!" she snapped, watching him sit at her kitchen table, "that was not an invite to come in."

He smiled at her, that alarmingly smug smile of his while putting his muddy boots up on her table. _He knows, he knows, he knows…_  
"I'd apologize for waking you, but seeing as how you only barely finished your little rendezvous with the pirate, I wager you've yet to catch a wink."  
Emma felt her pulse practically jumping in her throat, her teeth clenched as her hand curled into a fist. _I hate being right, I hate being right, I hate being right…  
_ "What?" he asked, tone derisive when she said nothing, "not even going to deny it?"  
Emma had so many scornful replies on the tip of her tongue in that moment, so much venom she wanted to spit at him, but if she'd been one to let her tongue run loose she might not have made it this far in the game. Emma knew she could deny the claim till the rooster started to crow and it wouldn't matter, he knew, lying now was only going to make this worse. So she gave him only her cold silence as she stepped forward and firmly shoved his boots from her table with a glare.

"Mind yourself, this is still my house," she told him icily, wiping the streaks of mud from the wood with her sleeve.

"For now," he acknowledged with a nod, "that's about to change. I think I made it very clear that no one was to approach the prisoner, Emma, let alone help him. " He tsked, waving a finger at her. "Very, very naughty of you. For that, I could easily have you whipped in the town square," he assured her, watching her face for a reaction.  
If he expected her to cower or flinch he had come here to be disappointed, in fact she near visibly calmed at the threat.

"Then do it, I am not above the law," Emma said easily, and with little emotion.  
But they both knew it was a dare, the same dare they'd had between them for years - _do it. See what happens._ He thought she feared the whip so much that she would finally attend the festival to avoid it? Lash her, it wouldn't be the first time. When he didn't bat an eye at her bold declaration, Emma felt a wariness creep into her – he hadn't expected her to cower to that, which meant he had something else in mind to bow her.

"I would not have my wife be more scarred than I, it's unsightly." He shook his head, "No, I think it would be best to simply remove the temptation to sin," he told her, grinning. "I'm just going to collect the pirate's head at first light." Emma's eyes widened and her mouth opened to protest, but nothing came out at the instantaneous expression of smug joy filling every inch of Harris's face. Emma closed her mouth, trying to take a deep breath to calm herself but Harris took this as leave to continue. "I've the perfect dull blade for him. Marcus used it once to behead a pig, took him almost twelve strokes to do the job. He just hacked and hacked at the poor thing. The way that damn pig shrieked, I didn't even know animals could _make_ sounds like that-"

"What do you want?" Emma cut him off, voice quiet.

"You know what I want – attend the festival and name me your husband, as you should have done summers ago."

"If I do… You'll let him live?" Emma asked, hoping against hope that just maybe this was her chance, her one chance to bargain for Killian's life. Harris was quite for a moment. Then, very slowly and deliberately, looking her dead in the eye as he did so, he put his muddy feet back up on her table top.

"No. But I'll make it a much quicker, cleaner death," he allowed, shrugging carelessly. Emma didn't chasten him for his disrespect this time, couldn't.

"He gets to live or no deal." She issued the ultimatum with words like smoldering coals.

"You are in no position to bargain with me!" he snarled back. "A clean death or a messy one – those are your choices," he hissed. Her hands were balled into fists so tight they shook, because he was right. Emma had nothing to bargain with, she had no upper hand, no cards to play. She didn't have the power to demand a damn thing with him. Her back was against the wall, never a good place for her, it made her rash.

"Then no deal," she hissed back, stepping forward and shoving his feet off the table so hard he nearly fell from his chair. "He lives, or so help me god, I'll fall on a fucking knife before choosing you as a husband!"

Harris was on his feet and standing over her in a flash, using every bit of his girth and height to tower over her, intimidate her, his teeth bared like a vicious angry dog. Emma didn't back away, didn't blink, her fists clenched as fire rose from somewhere deep inside her to burn in her eyes. And he must have seen it, because for a fraction of a second he hesitated. Emma could have sworn she saw just a hint of fear in him at that moment, and she was ashamed to say she liked it – that spark burning in him for once.  
He was quick to remind her how deep that shame should run.

"Oh, I've seen that look before," he growled softly, eyes searching through the defiance and anger in hers, "last time I saw that look, two kids burned to death."

Guilt ripped into her immediately, sharp and bitter, taking the edge off her challenge. "That was an accid-"

"Do it," he urged her, cutting her off harshly, "Show me. Show me what you _really_ are." Emma didn't look away, even as guilt swamped her, her shame smothering any strength anger had given her.  
"You think this whole town is going to stand by tradition if they really think you'd do that, Emma?" he asked her, seething. "You really think they would have let this little farce of yours go on as long as it has if they honestly thought you'd pull a stunt like that? I'd have you before the sun rose on this day. I'd have you bound to me, and bound in a house until the end of your life. If you were really good for a few years, I might let you out for short walks - on a rope with three men to make sure you didn't try anything. So go ahead, Emma," He sneered, stepping forward again, physically moving her back a step. "Make me believe you'd do it, make it even easier to get what I want."

Emma stared at him hatefully, a silent, traitorous tear running down her cheek. She'd never felt so powerless in all her life, and that was saying something. She didn't speak for a few long moments, then finally she looked away. Harris smirked; "Yeah. That's what I thought," he said with a nod, stepping back a few paces to lean against her table.

"I hate you," she told him softly, wiping her face.

"Trust me, you'll be relieved when he's finally dead," he assured her, as if she hadn't spoken. "I told him everything. The fire, the barn, the kids, the history of your line – he knows it all."  
She couldn't help the shock that broke over her face as she looked to him, as if praying she'd see he was lying. He wasn't. "I'm sure it took some of the shine off. Now – because I am feeling very generous tonight I'll give you the choice once more. Go to the festival and assure your pirate a clean death, or stay home, and we see if we can get a record number of swings to collect one head."

"… You know what my answer is."

He leaned forward. "I'd like to hear you say it."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I will be at the festival, I'll choose you." Harris stepped forward, and tipped her chin up to make her meet his gaze.

"Was that so hard?" he asked. Emma said nothing, hands trembling, hating him so much it made her sick. He dropped her chin and made to move past her to the door, but her hand shot up and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Please," Emma said, visibly shocking Harris. "Please… let me say goodbye to him."

For a moment she thought he was going to say no, shake her off. But then…  
"Since you asked so nicely, why not? I did promise him you'd visit one last time to confirm the truth anyways." Emma nodded tightly as she dropped her arm.

Emma looked defeated, she knew it. She knew he did too, and he was loving it. There was only one thing left for her to do. Harris left her home with a skip in his step. "Be ready in the next half hour, wife of mine."

* * *

Killian came to as a shock of cold water poured over his head, making him jerk and reflexively pull at his restraints with a short lived burst of energy. His face throbbed and his body instantly began to shake as he shook his head to clear the water from his eyes. What he saw as he glanced about him was most disheartening. There were three men standing around him, Harris's men, and after a few more blinks Killian noticed one of them was holding an ax at his side.

Killian stilled, a dread igniting at his core as he realized - his uncertain, short time here had just gotten a whole lot shorter, and deadly certain.

"Well, well, well – finally tired of waiting are we?" he asked, forcing any hint of strain and fear from his voice.

"Shut it," one said gruffly. Killian found it strange that they weren't looking at him, but rather looking back towards the town. He followed their gaze and saw that Harris and another man he didn't recognize were on their way, escorting a figure he knew all too well.  
Emma had her hood pulled back, her hair like a beacon in the coming light of the sun. His blood chilled, good god were they going to make her watch?

Emma seemed to lose her footing, and collapsed to the ground, he was close enough to make out her face now, white, eyes a little too wide. Oh god they were going to make her watch…

Harris pulled her up to her feet but she fell again. He watched as she said something to Harris as she pulled her hood back up, he nodded before giving some order to his companion. The man ran back and returned a few minutes later with a walking stick, pulling her to her feet and gruffly shoving it into her hands. With its help she hobbled with the two men the rest of the way.

"She doesn't need to be here for this," Killian snapped as soon as Harris was in earshot.

"She insisted," Harris replied, shrugging, "wanted a chance to say her tearful goodbyes, didn't you, Emma?" he asked, nudging her. Killian couldn't see her face as she nodded. "Besides, I thought you had a question you were _dying_ to ask her, didn't you pirate?" he asked, emphasizing the dying as if that were some clever pun. Twat. "About that barn and those kids all those years ago?" he prodded. A moment of silence passed through the group. "Well?" Harris said impatiently, far too gleefully as he nudged Emma harder towards Killian, "Here's your chance, she won't lie, will you, Emma?"

Emma shook her head and limped carefully forward until she stood before Killian. She didn't kneel and as such he was forced to look up at her, face obscured by shadows cast by the coming dawn, impossible to read what she was thinking or feeling – her only defense. And for a moment, he felt… doubt. The world fell away as it seemed to do whenever she was near, like it was only them and the doubts and fears between them.

"I hear you're something of a boogie man here, love," He said, smirking half-heartedly. She didn't respond at first and the doubt in him grew.

"I tried to tell you. When you didn't know what I was telling you I stopped trying... it was nice to not be seen as a calamity for once."

"Emm-"

"Yes," she said, voice heavy. "Yes, it's true."

Killian tried to work enough spit to swallow before speaking, giving him a second to think of something to say. "… I wasn't going to ask."

"You should. You should want to know if that's true." There was such pain in her voice. It was true. He wasn't sure for a second how to feel, what to think. It was so at odds with what he knew of her. But who was he to hold past sins against her? Or hold a sin against her at all – he was not a good man.

"I'm not saint enough to judge you, love."

"I'm dangerous, Killian. I'm a bad thing in the world."

"So am I." He could have sworn as she shifted then, as sliver of light crossed her face, that he saw just the hint of a smile.

"Not like this you aren't. I don't mean to be – I just am," she told him, shaking her head. "They were… they were throwing rocks at me, chasing me. I didn't mean to, it happened so fast-"

"No lying, Emma," came Harris's unwelcome voice, shattering the bubble Emma and Killian inhabited.

"That's not a lie," Emma said quietly, shifting her head so as to aim the words at him before turning the shadow of her hooded face back to him. "But it doesn't matter, because I started that fire whether I meant to or not. Just like I started this one."

She knelt before Killian then, speaking quickly and with feeling. "I've been damned my whole life, Killian. I've tried so hard to escape it, to spare people the aftershock of what me merely being alive does. But I can't run from what's in my veins, not anymore." She reached forward and gently pressed her fingers against his cheek. "I'm sorry for the aftershocks, but this is going to be over soon for you, I promise." He frowned at that, a morbid promise for her to make, a cold one that sat heavy in him. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to that as he watched her tilt her head up to reveal her face to him and him alone. It all disappeared the moment he saw her face.

There was no defeat in her eyes, in fact her eyes were like emeralds, hard with resolve. There was nothing soft in her face, everything was sharp and determined. Her hand drifted down his cheek to rest at his chest, near the ropes.

"You should know I've made peace with my fate, I don't care if this was real or not because it felt real and that's more than I ever expected to have. You don't have to forgive me... just don't forget me," Emma said softly. She leaned forward then, as if to kiss him... but she stopped just short.  
"Run, Killian," she whispered, hand pressing over his heart. He jerked involuntarily, gasping for breath as an energy surged through him, intense and hot. Hot enough to melt every pain and ache from his body, hot enough to chase away chills, to turn his blood into liquid coal shooting straight into the furnace that was his beating heart. "Run and don't come back," she breathed against his lips.

"As touching as this is," Harris began mockingly behind her, unaware of what was about to happen as her finger slid over the ropes, burning them away like a hot iron through butter, the ozone smell of a spell dying filling his nostrils. "It's time to bring this tragic romance to-"

Emma stood abruptly, raising her staff high before bringing it down hard with both hands. A shockwave burst from her as soon as the end of that walking stick hit the ground, strong enough to knock the men standing near them clean off their feet and carry them a solid five feet away. Killian could barely process how the men were lying flat out on the ground, writhing in pain or stunned, before she was grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet.

He met her eyes, everything happening so fast, feeling so alive at that moment, like the strength in his legs could carry him forever, yearned to run, to match the drumming pace of his heart. The sun was burning in her eyes, pulsing in the capillaries of her face like all along she'd had a sun inside her, pouring through her. She was beautiful; and she was terrifying – in the most wonderful way.

"RUN!" she shouted, shoving him away from her, hard.

Without thought Killian did. He turned his back and he ran. He ran like a man possessed, like if he did not run he might very well come apart. The cold air didn't burn in his lungs, he did not ache or grow tired, it was a relief to run, to spend all the sudden energy coursing through him. The desire thrummed through his mind like the beat of a drum, drowning out all other thought. He heard footstep behind him, but they faded quickly, unable to keep up with him. He flew like a shot past trees and through fields, not that he cared to notice – he had to run, _he **had** to run._

And so he did.

* * *

She watched him run, she didn't watch him long of course as he was out of sight so quickly. He didn't look back once, and she was glad he didn't. Strangely she wasn't sure if she could handle a last look back.

"After him!" Harris ordered, rage saturating every syllable as his men stumbled to their feet and made after him.

"They won't catch him," Emma said calmly, still looking after him. She heard Harris walk up behind her and turned to face him. His hand was raised as if he meant to strike her. She met his eyes, the ember in them still fading and he froze, much like he had in her home earlier. Emma pulled her hood back slowly, the last sparks of power fizzing out in her eyes.

"Do it," she said, voice deadly quiet. _I fucking dare you_ was left unsaid, but even with the power fading, it burned in her eyes. He grit his teeth, slowly closing his hand into a tight fist that he lowered to his side.

"You'll regret this for as long as you live, Furie born," his promised on a furious hiss.

"No I won't," she said with a slight shake of her head, as if it was the most certain statement she had ever made. This would not turn bad because Harris was comet born and in a few days he would turn all of her power into everything it wasn't - her curses were about to become blessings. She saw the exact moment he realized this and she did the most devastating thing she could have done in that moment, something she would regret she was sure. Emma Swan smiled.

His hand darted out and fisted into her cloak while the other knocked away her walking stick as he roughly dragged her down the hill towards the village. She didn't fight him, she'd meant what she'd said to Killian – she'd made her peace with fate. This defiance would be the spark she warmed and comforted herself with from here till the end of her life.

She hoped that spark lasted as long as she did.


End file.
